Author's Note: If you're hesitant about reading this fic, please at least give me the benefit of the doubt to the end of this author's note. I will try to make it very clear what this story entails, so that you can make an informed decision as to whether you really want to read on. If you get to the end of the author's note and decide you'd rather not, please don't feel obligated to continue even if you're one of my regular readers; I promise I won't be offended or think any less of you :)
I...did not want to write this fic. Writing it pulled me so far out of my comfort zone I could barely even find my comfort zone again. I had to be dragged kicking and screaming to the conclusion that I even could write it, and the only way I got through it at all was NewMoonFlicker and CapGirlCanuck encouraging me every step of the way, patiently listening to me moaning and groaning about it, and holding my hands from miles away through the hardest parts. You guys are awesome! Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
But enough beating around the bush. This fic takes place in my Whole Shards AU, about a month after the end of Make Me Whole, so it will make the most sense if you've read at least that first. While the contents of this story are certainly relevant to the storyline moving forward (including some things I've already written that happen chronologically later), this fic isn't absolutely essential to understanding future installments. So don't worry if you decide not to read this fic; you won't be left in the dark.
If you haven't read it yet and/or become uncomfortable or confused at any point about the way I describe these characters' physical demonstrations of affection, I highly recommend reading an essay-ish thing I wrote a while back that lays out my view on the matter: novelmonger dot livejournal dot com / 32733 dot html. If you have any further questions or concerns, before or after reading, please don't hesitate to ask me directly! If you decide not to read it yourself but still want to know what happens, just let me know and I can give you a summary in private.
I want to be as clear as I can without spoilers about the content in this fic. Ratings and specific warnings are helpful, but I want you to know exactly what you're getting yourself into. First of all, this fic contains blunt conversations and thoughts about sex. I've done my best to approach the subject with respect and maturity, and not an attempt to shallowly titillate the reader. This fic also includes mentions and discussions, but no explicit descriptions, of rape. Even though there aren't any "on-screen" depictions of anything too explicit, I decided to give this fic an M rating because the subjects discussed are really not appropriate for anyone younger than late teens. If you do decide to continue, please be mindful of your own limits and stop reading if it starts making you too uncomfortable. I mean...the very subject matter itself is going to be uncomfortable by its very nature, but...I think you know what I'm saying.
I knew right away that I would need a very specific playlist of songs to provide mood music for this fic. Besides the song that I quote below, these were the songs I used to get myself in the right mindset:
"Wanted" by Danny Gokey
"Reason for Love" by David Hodges
"Falling out of Love" by The Age of Information/David Hodges
"Turn off the Light" by David Hodges
"Love Like This" by Koni (feat. SVRCINA)
"Satellite" by Nickelback
"Hard Love" by NEEDTOBREATHE
"You'll Be in My Heart" by Phil Collins
"Gravity" by Vienna Teng
"Killing Me Slowly" by Bad Wolves
"8 Letters" by Why Don't We
"Oh My Dear" by Tenth Avenue North
There are also references in the fic to "Long Ago and Far Away" by Jo Stafford and "It's Been a Long, Long Time" by Harry James (because of course I had to). Go look them up if you don't know them!
Though I was maybe a bit reluctant to write this thing, I'm 100% sure that this is a story that needs to be told, and I'm very glad that I took up this challenge at last. The events in this fic take the characters out of their comfort zone even more than it did for me, but I think it makes a lot of sense why they would venture down this path, considering everything that's come before. I hope, if you choose to keep reading, you'll come to see what I mean.
I want you to know I still love you
Even though we've been dancing on broken glass
Parade all your memories, for the moments we shared
Never fade away
I want you to know I still love you
When I walk down the memory lane
Where the night swears its love to the stars
There will be no more tears today
The best of intentions will not see the road paved
The end of illusions, who could ever be saved?
What's left behind in the storms that we braved
The troubles we find and the chances we waived
- "Dancing on Broken Glass" by Poets of the Fall
For the first few weeks after Bucky had taken his mask off, the three of them had just focused on enjoying each other's company and getting used to the different dynamics of their relationship. In a lot of ways, nothing was different about the way they interacted. But in other ways, everything had changed.
Steve supposed he was probably the one who had the most to get used to. He had to reconcile the things he'd known about Winter with the things he'd known about Bucky, and grow accustomed to the way Bucky was now. Sam merely had to get used to seeing his friend's face and calling him by a different name, while all Bucky had to get used to was simply not having to keep any more secrets.
As July faded into August, the three of them began to turn their thoughts towards the end of the summer. This time to relax and adjust had been wonderful, but they couldn't just live in this cabin forever, after all. Steve and Sam needed to get back to the other Avengers, and Bucky needed to assimilate back into ordinary society, not just live out the rest of his days as a hermit in the mountains.
Steve and Bucky began to discuss possibilities for where they could go—back to D.C.? Find a place in Brooklyn? Go somewhere completely new? They agreed that they shouldn't settle down too far from the Avengers complex, so that Steve would be close by in case anything came up.
Before they had even begun to consider all the possibilities, however, Sam solved their problem in one fell swoop. Overhearing their discussion one morning in the kitchen, he said in a matter-of-fact tone that brooked no argument, "Well, obviously you're gonna come live with me. I've got a guest room, but I never have any guests. So we'll just turn it into the best-friend room."
Steve blinked in surprise—but then, why was he surprised that Sam Wilson was generous enough to open his home to them indefinitely? He looked over at Bucky, who stood hand-in-hand with him next to the sink, to see what he thought of the plan.
The relief on Bucky's face was clear to see. It would certainly be a lot easier on him to continue living with the two of them, even if it was in a new location. At least some things would remain familiar. Bucky met his eyes and nodded slightly, saying with that simple gesture everything that needed to be said.
"Thank you," Steve said, turning back to Sam. "That's very generous of you—as usual," he added with a grin.
Sam brushed aside Steve's gratitude with a casual shrug. "Aw, I wouldn't know what to do without you guys at this point anyway." He turned to leave, then seemed to remember something and turned back. "Only thing is, I've only got one extra bed. So do I need to buy another one, or do I need to buy some earplugs? The walls are pretty thin..."
It took Steve a moment to understand what Sam meant, but when he did, heat blazed across his cheeks. He braced himself for teasing, but then he realized that though Sam was smiling, his expression was one of mild curiosity rather than gleeful humor. He was seriously asking.
"What?" Bucky said, slowly looking from one to the other.
Sam held his hands up defensively. "Look, I'm cool either way; I'd just like to know ahead of time, you know?"
"We're not...a couple," Steve said carefully, looking at Bucky. "We're just friends."
His words fell flat in the silence. 'Just friends' was a woefully inadequate description of what he and Bucky meant to each other—what they had always meant to each other. How could it be accurate to say that the most important person in your whole life was 'just' anything?
"Do you think maybe that's...changed?" Sam asked slowly, as if choosing each word carefully. "Recently? I didn't know you before, but ever since the mask came off... I mean, just tell me if I'm wrong, but I'm sure you know what it looks like..."
"What are you saying?" Steve asked.
Sam shrugged. "A couple people in town have already asked me if you two were a couple. And if I have to ask, you can bet other people will wonder too. It'd be good to have an answer, at least."
Bucky looked down at their clasped hands, at their fingers laced comfortably together. He frowned, but didn't let go. "That was never part of our relationship...right? I'm not forgetting something really important, am I?"
Steve shook his head. "It never even occurred to me."
Sam looked thoughtfully from one of them to the other. "Do you think you might wanna consider it now?" he asked gently. "I mean...you two are close. Really close. Maybe it's time to...take the next step. Decide if you're actually...more than friends."
Steve glanced over at Bucky and found him looking warily back. Steve had never seen Bucky in that light before...but what did Bucky think? So many other things had changed since the last time they'd been together. What if this had changed too?
What did that carefully guarded expression mean? Was Bucky hoping Steve would say yes?
Sam stuck his hands in his pockets. "Maybe it's none of my business. But...you know...I think it's worth talking it over, at least. If you decide something, you can let me know if you want. I'm all ears."
He turned and walked away. Steve and Bucky stood in the awkward silence left in his wake.
Bucky's palm was growing sweaty, and he found himself wishing Steve had been holding his left hand instead. But he was afraid that if he let go, Steve would think it had something to do with the awkward air between them. Which it didn't. Except that his heart was pounding extra hard, and he couldn't quite meet Steve's gaze.
"Let's go for a walk," Steve suddenly said.
"Okay," Bucky said, gratefully taking advantage of the excuse to let go of Steve's hand and wiping his palm surreptitiously on his jeans.
For several minutes, as they made their way out of the cabin and along their favorite trail through the forest, silence fell between them. Even with the distractions of birdsong and the wind in the trees, the tension between them was palpable. Just minutes ago, they had been perfectly relaxed, with not a care in the world. But in such a short time...all of that had changed.
Because suddenly Bucky found himself wondering: Did Steve want this? Did he want them to be...a couple? Maybe it was something he'd held in the back of his head, barely even acknowledging that desire himself, because he'd assumed it wasn't anything Bucky would be interested in.
But...surely Bucky, of all people, would have realized that about his best friend. Right? He knew Steve better than anyone in the world. So shouldn't he know if Steve loved him like...that?
On the other hand, there was still so much Bucky didn't understand about this world. Even though all of his memories were there for him to access when he needed them, he was still overcoming the damage Hydra had done to him and his expectations about life. Sometimes even the simplest, most fundamental things—like the knowledge that Steve still accepted him—had the power to overwhelm him. So...was it really so strange if he hadn't picked up on the exact nature of Steve's love for him?
As if by mutual consent, they came to a stop in a little clearing where the trees drew back, offering a view of the valley far below. Steve turned to look at Bucky, who forced himself to look back steadily. "So?" Steve asked carefully. "What are you thinking?"
Bucky's heart pounded in his throat, making it hard to swallow. "Well...what do you want to do?"
"I want to give you whatever you need."
Bucky rolled his eyes. Only Steve Rogers could give that kind of response with a straight face. "At this rate, we're never getting anywhere," he said, cracking a smile.
To his relief, Steve grinned back. He took Bucky's hand in his again, wrapping both of his strong hands around it. "Whatever you need...whatever you want...it's okay with me. It might be new for both of us, but...if it will make you happy...then it makes me happy too."
Bucky's heart was so full of affection that he was sure it would burst like a firework, painting the air between them with splashes of color. For Steve...he would do anything. Even if he had to carve out his own heart to make Steve happy, he would do it without hesitation.
He'd never loved anyone this much. So maybe taking the next step was only natural.
Taking a deep breath, he nodded. "I know I want to be close to you. And I want to care for you...forever. If this is the best way to do that...then I'm already happy."
Steve smiled softly. "Good." He reached out to tuck Bucky's hair behind his ear, then trailed his finger down Bucky's cheek. He leaned in and placed a gentle but firm kiss on Bucky's lips.
The kiss was a promise. A promise for a new beginning. A silent, unspoken vow that no matter what, they were in this together.
When Steve pulled back and looked into Bucky's eyes, he could sense a faint but tangible difference in the air between them. Something had imperceptibly shifted, even though they weren't doing anything so different from what they'd been doing for the past month. For their whole lives.
Bucky was the first to break the silence. "No sex."
Steve immediately felt heat blooming in his cheeks again. "What?"
Bucky's eyes dropped to the ground, and he took half a step back as if to put more distance between them. "I...I don't want to...because..." He cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and dragged his gaze back up to face Steve again. "It might... It would probably hurt. And...I know you'd never...hurt me on purpose, but...it still might...and I never want...to hurt you...or...or associate you with...pain..."
"Okay," Steve said, putting a hand on Bucky's shoulder to stop his stammered explanation. He could tell it was hard for Bucky to even think along these lines, so he didn't need to spend any more time on it. "That's fine. Whatever you need, Buck."
He couldn't deny that a small part of him was relieved that at least he wouldn't have to figure out how that worked in the first place. But he tried not to let it show on his face. He didn't want Bucky to feel even more awkward than he did already.
"So..." Steve said, breaking the silence. "What do I call you now?"
Bucky's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Now that you're my...'boyfriend'?" He wrinkled his nose. What a trite name for such an important relationship. But slowly, his grimace faded into a grin. "Should I call you...sugar? Darling? Schnookums?"
Bucky snorted out a laugh. "Why don't I just call you Sappy Idiot and be done with it?" His smile softened as he curled his arms around Steve's neck and rested his head on his shoulder. "Just call me by name. When you say my name—my real name—it feels...good." He sighed and tightened his grip. "It feels really good."
As Steve hugged him back, he thought of all those months that Bucky had only been called Winter. All those years he'd been called nothing but the Soldier or the Asset. Those names were all part of him, but none of them were him. And he wondered if Bucky felt the same thrill that Steve sometimes felt when he heard his name spoken in his best friend's voice. There was a certain inflection to it that he never heard in anyone else's voice. An extra layer of meaning and connection, as if in that one word was bound up a lifetime of affection.
He turned his head and kissed the side of Bucky's neck, the easiest part of him he could reach. "Me too, Buck."
What surprised Bucky the most was that not much had changed. After making such a huge decision about their relationship, shouldn't everything be different now? Wasn't that usually how it worked?
But for the most part, life carried on like normal. They cooked, did chores around the house, went into town for groceries, hung out with Sam... Steve and Bucky had already been very affectionate with each other since he'd taken off the mask, and none of that seemed to have changed now that they had a different name for it.
The main difference Bucky could point to at first was that he started sleeping in Steve's bed every night. Even that wasn't much of a difference; most nights, one of them would find his way into the other's bed eventually. They would start out in their separate rooms, but then one of them would have a nightmare or simply be unable to sleep, and would go to the other in search of comfort.
Bucky probably would have ended up sharing Steve's bed every night eventually anyway. His bed was bigger, and it made sense to start their nights off together if they were going to wind up in the same place regardless. Their decision to pursue a romance just provided a convenient opportunity to make the change. Even if they weren't going to go all the way...this was something couples did, right?
Still, Bucky couldn't ignore the nagging sense that something was missing. More should have changed. Shouldn't it? If how they acted as a couple was exactly the same as they'd been when they weren't...what was the difference? Or was that the whole point? They'd already been acting the part, they just needed to make it official?
No, that couldn't be right. They'd treated each other like this their whole lives—even when they were kids. Curling up under the blankets together, holding hands, giving each other an affectionate peck on the cheek or forehead...
The only other change Bucky could identify was that they kissed more often, at least before turning in for the night, but sometimes throughout the day as well. They'd never been shy about kissing; the Barnes family had always been affectionate and demonstrative, and that had rubbed off on Steve before too long. True, it usually wasn't on the lips, and now that was almost exclusively where Steve and Bucky kissed each other. But surely that was to be expected. That was certainly something couples did a lot.
The strangest thing was that when Steve kissed him on the lips, it felt no different than when he kissed him on the cheek. It was always gentle but deliberate, full of affection and comfort. A chaste pressure against his lips, followed by one of Steve's long, warm hugs or their foreheads resting against each other as they simply breathed in each other's presence.
Maybe that's the problem, Bucky thought one night as they sat in bed with their arms wrapped loosely around each other. Maybe he's holding back. I told him I didn't want sex...so he's not sure how far to go. He's waiting for me to make the first move, and then he'll follow my lead.
Anxiety squirmed in his gut, but he tried not to let it show. How on earth was he supposed to know what to do? The concept of love was still so new to him, after seventy years of cruelty and loneliness. Never mind figuring out all the nuances or how to express them.
But...he did love Steve. That much he knew without a doubt. And Steve loved him too. If any doubts ever cropped up, all he had to do was remember time after time that Steve had proven it to him. Most recently, when Bucky had drawn his line in the sand, Steve had immediately accepted it. There hadn't been a trace of reluctance or disappointment; he'd just said, Whatever you need.
Whatever you need. And he didn't know what Bucky needed, so he was waiting for Bucky to tell him. He would set aside his own needs in deference to Bucky's. As usual.
A huge well of emotion rose up, banishing the fear. He looked over, then reached up a metal hand to Steve's cheek. Gently turning Steve's face to him, he looked deep into his eyes and breathed, "Do you know how amazing you are?"
Steve's lips quirked into a little smile. "What did I do now?"
"Nothing." He moved his hand to the back of Steve's head and pulled him closer. "Everything."
He kissed Steve's lips—once, twice, a third time—trying to dredge up ancient memories of other times he'd kissed someone. He couldn't see their faces after all this time, but he knew the memories were there, hidden somewhere in the haze of years before Hydra. A stolen kiss in the back of a darkened movie theater. A girl with cheeks rosy from dancing, pulling him close. Dainty arms wrapping around his neck, eyes sparkling in the glow of a streetlamp.
How was it that he'd easily kissed so many girls whose names he didn't remember and who had disappeared from his life completely, while he still struggled to kiss the most important person in his life?
Bucky stroked his thumb along Steve's cheek as he slowly kissed him, his heart a desperate tangle in his chest. He just wanted Steve to be happy, that was all. To know how important he was. To not hold himself back just because of Bucky's cowardice.
Hoping he was doing it right, Bucky nudged Steve's mouth open and deepened the kiss, cautiously moving his tongue to—
Steve jerked back suddenly, and Bucky opened his eyes to find his hands hovering in mid-air, where Steve's head had been.
"S-Sorry," Steve stammered, his cheeks reddening. "You...startled me, is all."
"It's okay," Bucky said, feeling a blush rising to his own cheeks. "Sorry...I-I just thought..."
"No, no," Steve said, leaning in again. "My fault."
Bucky's heart was flip-flopping in his chest like a dying fish, but he closed the distance and pressed their lips together again. All he had to do was think about how much he owed Steve, and he could set aside his anxiety. He just needed to focus on giving Steve what he needed...
But as soon as their mouths opened, Steve jerked back again, breaking the embrace. "Sorry," he said, squeezing his eyes shut as his whole face turned bright red. "Sorry, I...I don't think I'm ready for that."
"Sorry," Bucky echoed, dropping his eyes to the covers and shrinking in on himself. "Sorry..."
"It's not you," Steve said hastily. "I-I don't know why I...just...I'm sorry."
The most awkward silence Bucky had ever experienced settled over the room. He was almost afraid to breathe, and he couldn't bear to turn his head to the right and look at Steve. His eyes stung and his cheeks blazed. More to hide that than anything else, he finally mumbled, "Good night," switched off the lamp, and lay down on his left side.
After a moment, Steve lay down as well, not saying another word. But though the lights were off and they both lay still and silent for long minutes that stretched on into the darkness, he could tell from Steve's breathing that he was still awake.
They just lay there, not speaking, not turning to wrap their arms around each other or drifting off in an embrace like so many other nights. They didn't even hold hands.
What had gone wrong? Bucky had been so sure that he was giving Steve what he wanted. It should have been exactly the assurance he needed, that just because Bucky was too afraid to sleep with him, that didn't mean they couldn't do anything.
So...had it been the kiss? Had Bucky done it wrong? Or...was it Bucky himself?
You're disgusting, whispered a traitorous voice in his ear. Hideous. He can only put up with you so far. But when you're that close to him? He finds you repulsive.
Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath, trying to suppress the tears burning behind his eyelids. He couldn't talk back to the voice. He couldn't even sniffle or quietly cry into his pillow. Because Steve was lying right next to him, and if he knew how much Bucky's heart ached, he would only blame himself.
So Bucky stayed as quiet as he could and tried not to think about anything. Eventually, he somehow drifted off into a dream of a time long gone.
Bucky slowly turned the key in the lock and opened the front door. Once he saw that no lights were on in the apartment, he stepped inside and eased the door shut behind him. Quietly, he pulled off his shoes and hung his jacket on a hook in the entryway, then tiptoed farther inside.
The Rogers apartment was so quiet. True, it was after 11. But there had been an unnatural stillness in every room, even when the apartment was full of people, ever since Miss Sarah had left that last day. Miss Sarah wasn't a loud person, and she didn't usually draw attention to herself, but there was just something about her. A glow, maybe. An aura surrounding her that made everything look more beautiful, more alive, just because she was there.
It was a quality Sarah Rogers had passed on to her son.
Bucky's eyes were drawn to Steve's narrow bed, which sat in the corner of the main room of the apartment, behind a bedsheet used as a curtain. But he could tell at a glance, even in the near-total darkness, that Steve wasn't in it. The sheet was tied back, and the bed was neatly made.
For a moment, Bucky stood in the center of the silent apartment, the only sounds the leaking tap in the kitchenette and the yowling of two cats fighting in the alleyway below. But then he thought he heard another sound, as quiet as a breath of wind. It came from behind the closed door of Miss Sarah's bedroom.
Bucky padded forward, knowing what he was going to find behind that door. His heart grew heavier with every step.
"Thank you, Buck," Steve said, looking down at the spare key in his hands. "But I can get by on my own."
Bucky shook his head. "The thing is...you don't have to." He put his hand on his best friend's skinny shoulder and squeezed it gently, ducking his head till he caught Steve's eye. "I'm with you till the end of the line, pal."
Steve looked up at him and smiled—a frail, withered, broken smile, but the first genuine smile Bucky had seen since Steve had found his mother's note saying she'd checked herself in to her own TB ward. Steve opened his mouth, then closed it and swallowed, choosing to simply nod instead.
"So...my place?" Bucky clapped him on the shoulder and nodded back down the stairs.
But Steve took a step backwards, leaning against his own door. "I'll be okay here for tonight," he said quietly. "Sorry, I just...I'd need to pack some things first, and I'm...too tired right now. Haven't been...sleeping well, you know."
Steve had liar written all over his face, but Bucky didn't call him out. Not that he was lying about not getting enough sleep; that much was obvious from the dark circles under his eyes. But it was an evasion. Sometimes Steve refused help while laboring under the misguided notion that asking for it was selfish or that it was too much to demand of the people who loved him best. In such times, Bucky had learned that he had to let Steve believe he'd succeeded in making the selfless choice, and then turn around and help him anyway.
"Okay," Bucky said, letting a little of his disappointment show on his face.
Steve unlocked his door, then peeked over his shoulder at Bucky with an apologetic look. "See you in the morning?"
Bucky gave him a grin and a mock salute with two fingers. "You bet."
It wasn't morning, not by the furthest stretch of the imagination, but here Bucky was. Every moment he'd waited had been a torture, because he knew Steve must have been suffering alone in this empty apartment since the funeral. He'd been hoping he'd find Steve asleep when he let himself in, but as the bedroom door opened with a faint creak, it became abundantly clear that Steve hadn't slept a wink.
One of Steve's little idiosyncrasies was that he never used his voice when he cried. Even when they'd been little boys, Steve wouldn't sob or wail or make any sort of ruckus. He'd just sniffle quietly and let silent tears roll down his cheeks; even when he could hardly breathe and his shoulders shook with the force of his tears, he'd make no more sound than a whisper. Bucky wasn't sure if it was somehow connected to his asthma, or if he just didn't want to bother anyone.
But now, Steve was sobbing.
He lay in Miss Sarah's bed, clutching one of her pillows tightly to his chest and muffling his cries in the worn pillowcase. Light shone through the window from the building next door, illuminating Steve's tear-stained face half-hidden in the pillow. He looked as though he'd been crying for hours, the force of his sobs shaking his whole body. Though he had to have heard the door opening and closing as Bucky stepped into the room, Steve didn't move or look up.
Bucky approached the bed and looked down at his best friend. He felt as though every broken sob, every shuddering gasp for breath, ripped the gash in his heart wider and wider.
He'd loved Miss Sarah too. She'd taken him into her home and her heart like he was her own son. As busy as she'd always been, working hard to provide for her little family and take care of Steve's extensive health problems, she'd always had time for a kind word and a smile for everyone. She'd always had time for him.
And if his heart ached this much, how much more pain must Steve feel?
Bucky crawled into the bed and sat against the headboard, hauling Steve up to cradle him against his chest. Bucky realized that Steve was still wearing the clothes he'd worn at the funeral that afternoon, right down to the tie. It looked like he'd only bothered to discard his jacket and shoes before climbing into bed.
As soon as Bucky touched him, Steve's sobs came louder and faster, tumbling over each other so he could hardly draw breath between them.
And then it hit him: The last time Steve had probably slept in this bed, Miss Sarah had been there. Bucky knew, from the numerous times he'd spent the night here, that Miss Sarah often tended to Steve in her own bed when he was sick. It was more comfortable, and there was a door between it and the clatter of the kitchen.
But Miss Sarah would never sleep in this bed again. And no one else could ever be a substitute for that.
Bucky started to slide towards the edge of the bed again, but Steve clutched at him with the desperation of a shipwrecked man clinging to the shredded board that was all he had left of his old life. "Nnn..." was all he could manage to say between gulps of breath.
"Okay, okay, shhh..." Bucky said hastily, sitting back against the headboard again and settling Steve against his chest. The pillow was sandwiched between them, Steve's skinny fingers digging into Bucky's shoulders. Bucky rubbed Steve's back in soothing circles, trying to get him to breathe a little more deeply.
Steve pressed his tear-drenched face against Bucky's chest, drawing an enormous breath that shook both of them.
"I...I w-want my mama!"
The explosion of sobs following this declaration brought tears to Bucky's eyes as well. "Oh, Stevie..." He held Steve tighter, cradling his head as if that could somehow protect both of them from their overwhelming grief.
There was nothing he could do to make this better. He couldn't bring her back. He couldn't fill the hole that Steve would carry with him for the rest of his life. All he could do was hold Steve and hope that somehow this unfathomable pain would eventually become bearable.
Steve hadn't shed a single tear during Miss Sarah's illness. He hadn't cried when he'd come home to find the house empty except for her note begging her son not to try to see her until she came home. He hadn't cried when word had reached him that she wouldn't be coming home, ever. He'd barely shown any emotion during the funeral, nor the burial, nor afterwards. But it seemed that all the worry, pain, and grief he'd been bottling up from the beginning had finally grown too much to contain.
"I...m-miss...her..." Each word seemed to take an immense effort to utter, as though admitting it would solidify the infinite gulf between them.
Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead against Steve's shoulder. "I miss her too," he whispered shakily.
Steve needed Miss Sarah, even more than Bucky needed her. She had been Steve's only family, for practically his whole life. She had cared for him when no one else would. He was strong, and he would never be alone as long as Bucky had any say in the matter...but who could take a mother's place? Who could love him, believe in him, take pride in him the way Miss Sarah always had?
The answer, of course, was no one. Bucky felt as though he clung to his friend while a maelstrom threatened to rip him away, and there was nothing he could do but hold on as hard as he could.
It could have been an hour, it could have been only minutes, but finally Bucky realized that Steve's sobs were growing weaker and farther in between. He no longer gulped in desperate, wheezing gasps for breath. His grip on the back of Bucky's shirt slackened. Maybe he was actually drifting off to sleep.
When Bucky attempted to extricate himself from Steve's sprawling embrace, Steve's stick-thin arms clutched convulsively at him, and he made a tiny noise of distress as though the thought of separation was unbearable.
"Shhh," Bucky soothed, brushing Steve's hair off his forehead with one hand while gently prying his hands open with the other. "I'll be right back..."
Steve let him go with obvious reluctance, hugging his pillow against his chest again and squeezing his eyes shut as tears continued to stream down his face. Now he was back to his usual method of crying—just sniffles and silent tears.
Bucky stepped into the main room of the apartment and ran cold water over a clean washcloth at the kitchen sink, not needing to turn on the light to find his way around. He ran a hand over his cheeks to brush his own tears away, took a deep breath to steady himself, and returned to the bedroom.
Steve turned his head to watch Bucky's approach. He looked exhausted, completely drained by the stress of the last few weeks. How much sleep had he actually been getting? He'd been dodging Bucky's attempts to take care of him, insisting that he was doing fine. But Bucky often wondered whether he even bothered to try to sleep or eat except when Bucky forced him to.
Setting the wet washcloth on the bedside table for the moment, Bucky perched on the edge of the bed and reached over to gently pull the pillow out of Steve's hands and slide it under his head instead. He pulled off Steve's tie and began to unbutton his shirt. Steve let him, just lying there and watching him wearily.
Gently, Bucky pulled off Steve's crumpled shirt and pants, shifting his limp body into a position that looked a little more comfortable. Then Bucky pulled off his own clothes, till both of them were down to their undershirts, and climbed back into bed.
With the wet washcloth, Bucky gently wiped Steve's face clean, pressing the cold cloth soothingly against his closed eyes several times. He made sure to wet Steve's forehead and neck, then tossed the cloth on top of the pile of crumpled clothes on the floor.
Before Steve could start shivering, Bucky pulled the blanket up and tucked it around them, then lay down on the spare pillow next to Steve.
Steve lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling as if so exhausted he couldn't even turn his head to look at Bucky. He let out a weary sigh, his tear-swollen eyes sliding shut. "You didn't have to do this," he muttered.
"I know," Bucky said. "But I wanted to."
"No..." Steve's eyes opened again, and he turned his head just enough to look Bucky in the eye. "I mean...I'm sorry. Because you made a promise...and I know you'll keep it, but..." Moisture shimmered in his eyes again, glittering in the amber light streaming through the window. "It's not the same, Buck," he said, his voice breaking. "I...I don't think it—it will ever—be... I-I'm not going t-to be...h-how can I ever be...okay...?"
Bucky raised himself on one elbow, leaned over, and kissed Steve softly on the lips. He looked down at his best friend for several long moments, until one of his own tears dripped down onto Steve's cheek.
He lay back down, drawing Steve into his arms. "I don't care if this is every night for the rest of my life," he whispered. "I meant every word that I said."
Steve let out a final shaky sigh and curled up against Bucky's chest, tucking his head under Bucky's chin in his favorite position. "You sure?"
Bucky kissed the top of his head. "I could do this all day."
Steve lay staring into the darkness, unable to sleep. He could tell from Bucky's breathing that he was asleep, but Steve still hardly dared to move. He just wanted to sink into the mattress, disappear under the covers, and never emerge again.
Closing his eyes, he sought the release of oblivion, but could only think of what had just happened. He could vividly see Bucky looking at him, his eyes so intent but his whole face softening completely as the hard, worn lines of his face creased into an adoring smile. In that moment, the only thought in Steve's head had been, I need to draw this.
Then Bucky had leaned in to kiss him, and for a few seconds, he had been overwhelmed by two simple truths: Bucky loved him, and he loved Bucky. For one incandescent moment, that had been all he'd known, all he'd cared about—that precious heart beating against his, that hand caressing him and holding him close.
But then Bucky had opened his mouth, and something had reared up inside him, making him recoil before he'd even had time to realize what was happening. Like everything inside him suddenly screamed at once, NO!
What was wrong with him? He'd agreed to take their relationship down this path, hadn't he? He'd promised to give Bucky whatever he needed. Whatever he needed. The only thing he'd asked for so far was a kiss...and Steve had rejected him. Twice. Bucky had drawn his line in the sand, but this was so far from that line, and Steve couldn't even meet him halfway.
It wasn't as if Steve had never kissed anyone before, either. He'd even experienced long, drawn-out, passionate kisses like the one Bucky had been trying to give him. But even when it had been Natasha, whom he'd never been attracted to in that way...even when it had been a complete stranger who'd forced herself on him when he'd wanted nothing of the sort...at least some part of him had to admit he'd liked it, at least a little. He wasn't exactly proud of himself for it, but he couldn't help the way his body responded to the sensations.
Never mind how he'd felt when Peggy, whom he had been in love with, had given him a brief but passionate kiss.
Shouldn't all of those feelings have been even stronger when Bucky kissed him? This was Bucky! Someone he'd known his whole life, someone he'd loved his whole life, practically the only reason he hadn't died or been driven to despair a long time ago. They'd been through every high and low together. They'd saved each other's lives more times than they could count. They'd told each other every dreaded secret, held each other together when their hearts were breaking. Bucky was the best thing that had ever happened to Steve.
And he couldn't even kiss him.
Why? he wanted to scream, but he could only lie there in silence, listening to Bucky's steady breathing. He loved Bucky so much. He would die for him if he had to. So why couldn't he just get past his own inexplicable squeamishness and do something so simple?
Was it just because Bucky was a man? Only women had ever kissed him like that before. But that was stupid. Even the second time, when he'd known what to expect, he hadn't been able to even sit through it. Besides, it wasn't like he and Bucky had never kissed each other on the lips before. He hadn't been recoiling from the chaste, affectionate kisses they'd been giving each other more and more often the past few days. He liked that gentle, physical reminder of how much they loved each other. It was only when Bucky had tried to push a little further that Steve had reacted so badly.
It was clear that Bucky loved him. That he wanted him.
Did this mean that Steve didn't love Bucky as much as he'd thought he did?
Steve squeezed his eyes shut against the burning in his eyes. He wanted to throw himself at Bucky's feet, to burst into tears and cry out a thousand apologies for his own inadequacy.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please, just give me a second chance. I'll do better. I promise I'll do better. You shouldn't have chosen me. You deserve someone who can love you back without reservation. But I'll do my best to become that person. I will earn the right to your heart, even if I have to fight my own every step of the way. I promise.
Exhausted, Steve finally drifted off, his mind still full of those unspoken promises. His thoughts of Bucky swirled around his head, until finally they latched onto an old memory.
Steve trudged wearily through the camp. He'd been awake for almost 48 hours, and had hardly given himself a chance to catch his breath in all that time. First there had been the trip to this camp with the dancing troupe, bouncing over unpaved roads in the back of a truck. Then there had been the fiasco of a performance, soon followed by his resolve to sneak into the Hydra base. A harrowing flight through enemy territory, jumping out of an airplane in the midst of heavy gunfire, stowing away in a Hydra truck, and then beating up as many guards as he could without raising an alarm... Then he'd freed all the prisoners, tracked down Bucky, come face-to-face with the Red Skull himself, and escaped the building seconds before it had all gone up in a blaze.
And that hadn't even been the end of it. Steve had led the march through the night all the way back to camp, then spent the rest of the next day reporting to Colonel Philips and making sure that all of the escapees had food and medical attention. Several people had tried to tell him to get some rest, that he'd done more than enough already...but he couldn't relax until he knew they would all make it. These men had suffered so much, far more than he could imagine. The least he could do was try to make them comfortable.
But finally a particularly stern nurse had convinced him to go rest, pointing out that if he collapsed from exhaustion, he would be taking up space in the medical tent that they might need for someone with more serious injuries. So he made his way back through the camp, barely even noticing the stares that followed him everywhere. Someone had been thoughtful enough to assign him to Bucky's tent, which was a relief...but Steve didn't like to think about why there was room for another man in his tent.
As Steve ducked through the tent flap and noticed Bucky lying curled up in his bedroll, he realized he hadn't seen him for hours. He'd marched Bucky off to the medical tent first, knowing that Bucky had endured worse tortures than any of the other men he'd rescued. They'd said no one else had survived Dr. Zola's experiments, which meant that he'd had a closer brush with death than anyone else. But the doctor had given him a clean bill of health, and Bucky had gone to find something to eat while Steve went to give his report to the colonel.
That had been the last they'd seen of each other. Bucky had never been far from Steve's thoughts, not since he'd first realized Bucky had been given up for lost. He'd just forced himself to focus on other things most of the time—the immediate pressures that demanded his attention.
As Steve knelt by the bedroll provided for him, he sighed deeply and let his shoulders sag. Here in the semidarkness, with only a sleeping Bucky to witness it, he could finally let down his guard completely. All the aches and pains from the last two days clamored for his attention, and he was so exhausted he thought he could probably sleep even if another Hydra base blew up right next to him.
Trying to make as little noise as possible, Steve pulled off his jacket and boots. He'd already left the helmet and battered shield behind, but hadn't had a chance to change out of his clothes or wash more than his face and hands. Well, they would all be heading back to London in the morning. He could get a hot shower there. In the meantime, he peeled off the scorched, sweat-stained uniform he'd been wearing all this time. He had clean clothes in the pack that someone had thoughtfully delivered to this tent...but he was just too tired to bother with that now.
A soft sound drew his attention to the lump of blankets that was Bucky. It was hard to tell in the darkness of the tent, but Steve thought the blankets were trembling. Like Bucky was shivering, even though it was a warm evening.
"Bucky?" he whispered. "Are you awake?"
Bucky didn't reply, but Steve could see his shoulders jerk slightly at the sound of his name.
Steve shuffled over to kneel next to Bucky, leaning over to get a glimpse of his face. Bucky's eyes were open, staring blankly ahead at the tent fabric in front of him. "You okay, Bucky?"
He was mumbling something under his breath. Steve could see his lips moving, but he had to lean closer to make out the words. "James Buchanan Barnes...sergeant...32557..."
It was the same thing he'd been muttering when Steve had found him strapped to an operating table, where Dr. Zola had experimented on him. Unnerved, Steve reached out to touch Bucky's shoulder.
With a loud gasp, Bucky whirled around, raising an arm as if to defend himself. Wild eyes darted around the tent, then stared up at Steve. He looked at his friend hungrily, as if trying to memorize him in one look because he knew there would never be another chance. He mumbled in a tiny, timid voice, "Are you...real?"
Steve's heart ached. Bucky had been subdued, of course, ever since Steve had found him in the Hydra base, but that was understandable considering everything he'd been through. Steve hadn't expected him to be exactly the same as the laughing man he'd said goodbye to in New York, but overall Bucky had seemed to hold himself together pretty well as they made their escape. He'd kept up with Steve, filled him in on what had happened since they'd parted, even cracked a few jokes and smiles. But Steve should have known he was hiding just how much his experiences had affected him. Were still affecting him.
"Yeah," Steve murmured, swallowing the huge lump in his throat and grasping Bucky's cold hand. "I'm here, Buck. I'm real."
Bucky let out a long sigh and closed his eyes, squeezing Steve's hand so hard it hurt. "Sorry," he whispered. "Sorry, I just..." He bit his lip and let go of Steve's hand, rolling to face away from him. "Your hand feels different."
Steve looked down at his hand, so much bigger than it used to be. Even after months of getting used to his new, strong body, sometimes it still felt like a stranger's. How much more alien must it seem to Bucky, who hadn't even had time to get used to it yet?
With a sigh, Steve grabbed his blankets and draped them over Bucky, who was still trembling visibly. Then he lifted one side and settled onto the rough ground next to Bucky, covering them both with the same blankets. "It's still me, though," he whispered, curling up against Bucky's back and draping an arm around his waist.
Not for the first time, he was struck by how small Bucky was in comparison to him now. Small and weak. Full of fragile bones that could be broken so easily. Hands that were cold as he cupped his own hands around them. They really had switched places, hadn't they?
For several long minutes, they simply lay there like that, Bucky wrapped in several blankets and Steve's arms. Gradually, as Steve's body heat warmed the blankets around them, Bucky's trembling slowed, then stopped altogether.
Bucky was the first to break the silence. "It was like a nightmare. And then you came and woke me up... But...every time I close my eyes, I'm...I'm afraid the nightmare will...start again..."
Gently, Steve pushed on Bucky's shoulder till they were facing each other. It had grown even darker in the tent, but this close he could just barely make out Bucky's eyes. "It's over now. It's all over. You're safe. You'll never have to go through anything like that again."
Bucky sniffled, mumbling thickly, "Promise?"
"I promise."
Bucky's shoulders heaved, and Steve could tell from the strangled sound in his throat that he was trying to suppress a sob. "I was...scared...St-Steve..." His fingers clenched around fistfuls of Steve's undershirt. "I-I-I thought...I was...gonna die..."
"Shhh..." Steve pulled him closer, holding him tightly so Bucky could feel his strength. "Not on my watch," he murmured into Bucky's ear. "You've spent our whole lives dragging me out of trouble. Figured it was time I returned the favor."
He could feel the tension drain out of Bucky's body. It was like he'd been holding his breath all this time, but finally he'd been given permission to let it out and gasp for breath again. Bucky pressed his face against Steve's chest, muffling his sobs in the fabric of his shirt and the blankets.
Steve couldn't really do anything except hold Bucky and rub his back in soothing circles. He didn't know what it was like. He didn't know what Bucky had gone through. He didn't know if there was any way to convince Bucky that he really was safe now. All he could do was offer his warmth and his presence, hoping that something would help at least a little.
Finally, Bucky drew back a little—just enough to lay his head on Steve's arm and look up at him. He ran his eyes over Steve's features, still sniffling from time to time. Steve held still, wishing he knew what was running through Bucky's mind. Slowly, Bucky lifted a hand and placed his palm against Steve's cheek. He ran his thumb down Steve's nose, then brushed two fingers across his forehead and one eyebrow.
His hand dropped down again and he let out a weary sigh. "Nothing's ever going to be the same, is it?"
Steve gazed at what little he could see of Bucky's face. He thought he knew what Bucky meant—neither of them were the same as they had been back in Brooklyn. Steve was no longer the weak, skinny boy getting beat up in a dark alley. And now Bucky was further than ever from the happy, carefree charmer he used to be. In some ways, their roles had switched...and there was no going back. Nothing could undo what had changed them into what they were now.
The most terrifying realization was that, in some ways, they were strangers now. Steve didn't know a Bucky that cowered in fear, trembling and muttering in a waking nightmare. And Bucky didn't know a Steve that people would listen to and applaud rather than dismiss out of hand. If they didn't even know each other...what did they have?
"One thing will always be the same," Steve whispered. He leaned in and placed a single kiss on Bucky's lips, then pressed their foreheads together. "I'm with you to the end of the line."
For one blissful moment when he first awoke, Bucky was happy and comfortable like any other morning. But as soon as he opened his eyes and found himself lying on the edge of the bed—rather than nestled comfortably in Steve's arms, tucked into a pocket of warmth and safety—he remembered what had happened the night before. His heart sank like a stone.
Listening carefully, he could hear Steve's steady breathing behind him. Still asleep.
Suddenly, Bucky realized he really needed the bathroom. But if he got out of bed, Steve might wake up...and then they would have to face each other. He knew he couldn't put it off for very long, but right now he could imagine few things worse than standing on either side of the bed, looking into Steve's eyes, and finding disgust there when they remembered what had happened just a few hours ago.
But he couldn't just lie here forever either. Maybe he could reach the door before Steve woke up properly and make a break for his own room. But the door to the living room creaked, which would definitely wake Steve up if nothing else did...
He hadn't decided what to do yet when he heard a sound he'd been dreading: Steve beginning to stir. Panicking, Bucky threw the covers off and quickly got to his feet. Before Steve could do more than rub his eyes, Bucky stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind himself.
As soon as he did, he mouthed a curse at himself. Now he was trapped. Maybe he could take a long shower and hope that Steve would at least be out of the room by the time he got out? But Bucky still kept all of his clothes back in his room... Or maybe if he was really fast, he could get past Steve before he was fully awake...
With a huff, Bucky shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. He was being stupid. They would have to talk about it sometime. They couldn't just avoid looking at each other for the rest of their lives. So he sighed and went about his business.
Bucky couldn't help taking his time washing his hands and face, then trying to make his hair and clothes look a little less disheveled. He caught himself just staring at his reflection in the mirror—at the lines etched in his skin over the years, at the rough stubble coating his cheeks, at his lips...
No wonder.
Abruptly, Bucky turned away and opened the door before he could chicken out. He faltered in the doorway when he saw Steve making the bed and glancing furtively in his direction. He took a step into the room, but he couldn't make himself get any closer. He swallowed and inspected the floor.
"Buck?" Steve's bare feet moved around the bed and stopped in front of him. "I...I'm sorry about...you know."
Bucky would rather have jumped into a lake filled with alligators than look up at Steve at that moment. It was all he could do not to physically cringe away from him and hide his own burning cheeks.
Steve took a deep breath, then blurted out, "I promise I'm going to do my best, so...so please don't give up on me?"
Bucky peeked up at him and saw an expression of just as much sadness and chagrin as he felt. He raised his head a little, meeting Steve's eyes. No disgust. No revulsion. Shame, sorrow, nervousness, yes. But also...longing.
"You...don't have to...apologize," Bucky stammered in surprise. "It was my fault too...I mean, we're both still new to..." His voice died in his throat, and he had to swallow hard to get it back. "You mean you still want to...you still want this?"
Steve's sad but hopeful little smile made Bucky's heart ache. "Of course I still want you. And I'm sorry if anything I've done made you doubt that. Please...forgive me."
Bucky wasn't sure which impulse was stronger—to laugh, or to cry. With difficulty, he choked out, "Don't need my forgiveness..." He took another look at Steve's sad expression, then added, "But you have it anyway."
Steve's smile broadened, and at least some of the sadness dripped away. He took Bucky's hand in his; Bucky didn't think he'd ever appreciated the sensation of warm fingers squeezing his more than he did in that moment. "Can I...is it okay if I...kiss you?"
Bucky blinked in surprise. That was the last thing he'd expected to hear this morning...but of course, how could he refuse? He nodded numbly.
If he'd had time to wonder if this would just be a repeat of last night, he needn't have worried. Steve just pressed a gentle, deliberate kiss to Bucky's lips—not pushing or asking for more, but making it crystal clear as no mere words could that he loved Bucky. That, no matter what had happened last night, he didn't find Bucky repulsive at all. On the contrary, he wanted to be as close as he could manage.
When Steve started to pull back, Bucky wrapped his arms around him and held him in a tight hug. They didn't let go for a long time.
By unspoken consent, Steve and Bucky took it easy for the next few days. The memory of that ill-fated night was still too strong; they needed to let it fade a little before trying to move their relationship further in any new direction. They relaxed back into their usual expressions of affection, and just enjoyed each other's presence.
But as the days stretched on and became a full week, Steve began to feel more and more frustrated with himself. He wondered if Bucky was too, but he was too scared to ask. Which just made him even more frustrated. They were just stalling now, too timid to take the next step. If one of them didn't make a move, they would be stuck in this weird limbo forever.
Steve was brooding over this while Bucky was in the shower—one of the brief moments he wasn't at Bucky's side. He stood in the kitchen, staring blankly down at the dregs of his coffee, trying to figure out what to do.
"There's a bit left if you want a top-up."
With a start, Steve realized Sam was standing in front of him, watching him with the coffee pot in his hand. "Oh...sure. Thanks." He held out his mug, then mechanically brought it to his lips when Sam poured the last of the coffee into it.
"So...?" Sam said, dragging out the word as he rinsed out the coffee pot. "How's it going?"
It was obvious what Sam was asking. Steve couldn't keep a faint blush from his cheeks at the smirk playing about Sam's mouth, but he did his best to hide it by taking another gulp of coffee. "Fine," he said shortly.
Sam nodded, grabbing the wet dish rag and starting on the breakfast dishes. "Mm-hmm," he said flatly. "Which is why you're nursing your coffee like it's a shot of whiskey. Definitely not a sign that there's trouble in paradise."
With a sigh, Steve set down his mug. He didn't really want to go into the details with Sam—this was such a private matter, embarrassing to Bucky as much as it was to him. But he also couldn't deny that a large part of him had been wishing he could talk this through with Sam. Sam always seemed to know what to do, especially with tricky matters of the heart and mind.
"I guess...I just feel like we're going nowhere," Steve finally admitted. "Mostly, nothing's different from the way it was before."
"And you're saying that's a problem," Sam said neutrally.
"Well, yeah," Steve said with a roll of his eyes. "If we're going to be in a relationship, I shouldn't treat Bucky exactly the way I treat you."
"Trust me, dude," Sam said with a grin over his shoulder. "You have never treated us the same."
Well...that was why all of this had started, wasn't it? "Okay...point taken. But...I just feel like we've hit a wall or something. I guess neither of us really knows what we're doing."
Sam shrugged. "Nobody ever does. If anyone tells you otherwise, they're either lying or fooling themselves."
Steve grabbed the dish towel and started drying off the dishes. "But what do we do?"
"Maybe just try something different," Sam suggested. "Do something that you wouldn't have done before, so you won't just fall back on habit."
"Like what?"
"Like a date, maybe," Sam suggested. "You haven't really been on one yet. Something new to try."
"A date?" Somehow, that made Steve's mind go blank.
Now Sam wasn't even trying to hide his smirk. "Yeah. You know—fancy dinner, candles, slow dancing. Something you've done before, but not with each other. Worth a shot, right?"
"I've...actually never done that before," Steve admitted.
Sam dropped the frying pan into the sink with a clang. "Wait...never done what?"
Keeping his head down as he rubbed a plate dry, Steve mumbled, "Gone on a date. I mean...not one-on-one."
For a moment or two, Sam went completely still and silent. When Steve finally plucked up the courage to peek over the top of the plate, he found Sam gaping at him open-mouthed. Finally he found his voice. "You mean you're 95 and you've never been on a date?"
"Not for lack of trying," Steve muttered defensively. "I wasn't exactly popular before the serum...and then there was the war, you know..."
Sam threw up his soapy hands into the air, suds flying in all directions. "You're Captain freaking AMERICA! Your excuses are invalid!"
Bucky scowled at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, fumbling with his tie. He blamed it on the metal hand—this was the first time he'd had occasion to dress up since getting it, after all. That, and seventy years of time in which guns and knives and torture were more prominent in his mind than tying a necktie neatly. He should have just had the man in the clothing store tie it for him, then loosened it and kept it tied so he wouldn't have to figure out how to do it all over again...
Finally, he decided it was as good as it was going to get. A little lopsided, but he didn't think it looked too terrible. The dark blue matched the color of his suit, and there was a subtle design sewn with silvery thread that caught the light at the right angle. (Sam had picked the tie, telling him it was perfect because the design looked like snowflakes. Bucky wasn't sure if Sam had been teasing or not, but since he didn't trust himself to pick out a wardrobe, he had to trust Sam's judgment.) With a huff of impatience, Bucky patted his hair to make sure it was neatly in place, then pulled on the suit jacket hanging from the back of the bathroom door. As he buttoned it, he looked uncertainly at his reflection. He was clean-shaven and dressed to the nines, his long hair pulled back in a little ponytail. Should he take that out? Did it make him look like he was from the eighteenth century?
It's just Steve, he tried telling himself. But then, Steve wasn't just anything. Of all the people in the world, Steve was the one Bucky most wanted to think highly of him.
You really think this is how you're going to manage it?
"Shut up," Bucky muttered to the voice in his head. He resolutely opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the hallway.
While he'd been getting ready, Sam had transformed the dining room. The table was hidden under a white cloth, lined with candles and set with the fancy dishes they'd never used before. Sam had even found fairy lights somewhere and strung them up all around the room. Soft piano music filled the air, and something delectable sizzled in the kitchen, where Sam bustled around wearing an apron.
Ultimately, he and Steve had agreed that they would be much more comfortable with their first date if they could stay somewhere familiar, away from prying eyes. From time to time as they made their preparations, Bucky wondered if Steve had only agreed to this condition because he could tell how nervous Bucky was. Maybe he would have been perfectly comfortable going to some bustling restaurant, holding hands or even kissing in public where anyone could just turn around and watch them... But even if it was a sign of cowardice, Bucky was relieved they could just stay home. It was nerve-wracking enough just stepping into this new territory without anyone watching.
Bucky stood awkwardly at the edge of the kitchen, unnoticed and not sure what he was supposed to do. He fiddled with his tie some more, wishing there was a mirror out here so he could double-check that the knot was centered properly. Maybe he could ask Sam if he looked all right...but Sam had that look of intense concentration on his face that he got when juggling several dishes at once. He was in his element, but didn't have the attention to spare at the moment.
Steve's door opened, making Bucky jump slightly. As ever, Steve cut a fine figure as he crossed the room—he wore a simple black suit with a narrow black tie, but its very simplicity only accentuated the strong lines of his figure. He wasn't fiddling with his tie or moving stiffly in fancy clothes he was unaccustomed to. He was the picture of calm confidence, and Bucky found himself relaxing automatically as soon as he saw Steve's smile.
"Looking very dapper tonight," he said.
"You look nice too," Bucky said softly.
"Almost ready!" Sam called. "Go ahead and sit down!"
There was a bit of confusion when they reached the table and couldn't decide who was supposed to pull out the other's chair. With a chuckle, they compromised by sitting in the chair the other had pulled out. Bucky sat across from Steve, looking at him over the candles placed in the middle of the table. Steve smiled, candlelight glowing on his cheeks and fairy lights glittering in his eyes.
"All right—one romantic candlelit dinner, coming right up!" Sam called, carrying in a large tray filled with all sorts of dishes. "If this was actually a fancy restaurant, you'd get them in courses, but I'm just gonna put them all on at once and get out of your hair." He announced each dish as he placed it in front of the others. "Roast chicken glazed with pomegranate juice. Mushroom risotto. Fennel and watercress salad. Plenty of dinner rolls. And of course...our finest selection of white and red wines." He whipped out two dark green bottles from the pockets of his apron.
Steve gave him a flat look. "That's sparkling grape juice."
"Yeah, well, you guys can't get drunk anyway, so what's the point of shelling out the extra cash?"
Steve and Bucky rolled their eyes, but let Sam pour them glasses anyway and set the bottles in a bucket of ice. "For dessert, I have a berry tart in the fridge; you can put whipped cream on it too if you like."
"Thank you, Sam," Steve said earnestly. "This is...a lot of trouble you've gone to for us."
Sam shrugged, untying his apron. "Aw, it's fun to cook fancy every once in a while. Okay," he said, looking around the room critically to see that everything was in place. "I'm off now—dinner and a movie for me. Don't worry about the dishes; I'll do them in the morning. Have fun!" he called over his shoulder as he headed for the door. "Just make sure you're in your room if you decide to do anything embarrassing that I might walk in on, okay?"
Steve dropped his head into his hands with a groan. Bucky was pretty sure he heard Sam cackling to himself as he closed the front door behind himself and drove off into the night.
For the next few minutes, Steve and Bucky just focused on the excellent food Sam had prepared for them. Even after all this time, Sam still managed to come up with recipes Bucky would never have imagined in a hundred years, blending flavors together effortlessly to make a full, satisfying meal.
As they ate, silence fell between them, punctuated only by the clatter of silverware and the soft music in the background. Bucky felt like they ought to be talking during the meal, but he couldn't think of anything to say. He glanced past the flickering candles, met Steve's eyes, and then quickly looked back down at his plate. Why did he feel so...shy around Steve all of a sudden? He felt as awkward and nervous as if he'd been set up on a blind date with a total stranger, rather than the friend he'd known for almost his whole life.
He was eating too fast. He'd almost cleared his plate, and then what was he supposed to do? Besides that, it probably made him look greedy, stuffing his face as fast as he could...
But when he took a sip of his drink and looked up, he found Steve just sitting there—not eating anymore, just watching him. There was just the hint of a smile playing about his lips, softening his whole face. Bucky licked his lips. "What?"
"Nothing," Steve said quietly. "Just you."
Funny. Steve had only said three words, but Bucky instantly felt the nervous tension in his chest evaporate. A wave of warmth rippled over him, as if the candles had become lodged in his heart instead, glowing steadily. As if...
Steve pushed back his chair and got to his feet. "How about a dance?"
Bucky slowly stood as well. "I don't...know if I remember..."
Steve didn't point out that Bucky had been the one to teach him how to dance, nor that Bucky had an enhanced memory now. He just held out his hand. "Then let me lead."
At that, Bucky had to smile. "When have I ever done anything else?"
They moved out to the empty space between the dining room and the kitchen, where Steve switched the music to a playlist of dance music Sam had apparently helped him create. The cheerful, brassy tune stirred something far back in Bucky's memory, only strengthened when Steve put an arm around him, grabbed his other hand, and pulled him into the steps of a simple dance.
At first, Bucky stumbled over his own feet. But when he looked up at Steve, he immediately relaxed. It was impossible to feel anxious when looking at that smile...those warm blue eyes... His feet moved of their own accord, remembering the right steps to match Steve's.
Steve's grin widened, and Bucky couldn't help smiling back. "See, what'd I tell you? Just like riding a bike."
"Yeah...just muscle memory, I guess." He came to a stop and let go of Steve's hand as the song ended.
The second song started up, a much faster swing dance tune, and Steve grabbed Bucky's hand again. "Do your muscles remember this one?"
With a laugh, Bucky let himself be pulled into the dance—and discovered that he did remember it. Memories of crowded dance halls merged with the sight of Steve's smiling face as they let the music carry them away.
Bucky lost count of how many songs they danced to. Some fast, some slow. They soon had to take off their jackets and ties and roll up their sleeves, laughing as they tried to outdo each other's energetic dance moves. Bucky was just glad that all awkwardness between them seemed to have disappeared. It was just him and Steve, the way it had always been. They could have been dancing around in their apartment in New York, the way they often had when Bucky had wanted to practice something to impress the girls.
Finally, the music came to an end and they had to stop to catch their breath. Steve flashed a grin at him as he went to turn on some more sedate music. Bucky stepped back into the dining room to crack a window. The cool night air was soothing on his sweaty forehead, the crickets singing a song as comfortingly familiar as the music that echoed through the house.
Bucky glanced over at Steve's reflection approaching him from behind. The light was too dim for him to make out Steve's expression, but he could hear the soft smile in Steve's voice as he took Bucky's hand and suggested, "Let's go outside."
Bucky followed him out to the wooden bench on the back patio. They sat down in the darkness lit only by the stars, the light gleaming behind the windows, and the fireflies that speckled the lawn. Faint strains of music reached them through the open window.
Long ago and far away
I dreamed a dream one day...
Bucky leaned against Steve's side. He drew a breath, trying to find the right words to express what was glowing in his heart. "Tonight was...good." He grimaced at how inadequate those words were.
With a chuckle, Steve wrapped an arm around Bucky's shoulders and laced the fingers of their right hands together. "Yes, it was. And if you ask me, I think it's still good. Keeps getting better, in fact."
Long the skies were overcast
But now the clouds have passed
You're here at last...
He kissed Bucky's cheek, and Bucky leaned into it, closing his eyes. He thought he could stay here forever—the breeze cool on his cheeks, Steve's warm arms around him, nothing to worry about, nothing to fear...
"Almost as if..." he breathed.
"As if what?" Steve murmured in his ear.
"As if all you want...is just...me."
A small, disbelieving laugh brushed against his cheek. "'Almost'? That's exactly it, Buck. You're all I've ever wanted."
Chills run up and down my spine...
Steve let go of his hand to gently tilt Bucky's head towards him, and kissed him gently on the lips. "Don't you ever doubt that, you hear me?"
How could he possibly doubt that when Steve's arms were around him, when his warm blue eyes sparkled mere inches away from his own, glowing with enough love to illuminate the whole world? "I hear you," he whispered.
The dream I dreamed was not denied me...
"One day," Steve murmured, punctuating his words with another kiss, "one day, maybe I'll even convince you."
Bucky was surprised when Steve's kisses became more and more insistent. He could feel Steve's heart pounding wildly against his as he leaned in even closer.
Just one look and then I knew
That all I longed for long ago was you...
The music twined around them as Steve kissed him—eagerly, fervently, almost desperately. Bucky was left breathless, hardly even able to respond, his head sandwiched between Steve's lips and the crook of his arm. And then he felt Steve's other hand touch his thigh, caressing him...
Bucky wrenched himself away with a gasp. Before he realized what he was doing, his metal hand closed around Steve's wrist and yanked his hand away from Bucky's leg.
"Sorry," Steve said immediately. "I-I wasn't...trying...I wasn't going to..."
Bucky quickly let go of Steve's wrist, his cheeks burning. "No...it's...just...don't do that."
"Sorry," Steve mumbled again, looking as if he were afraid to move.
As Bucky's heart pounded and he tried to catch his breath without gasping, he furiously asked himself, What was that? He wasn't hurting you, so why did you react so strongly? He was being gentle; he wasn't forcing anything on you. He just told you that he loves you, that he wants you! Does this mean that you don't love him? You're going to reject him, after everything he's done? You're not even going to try to return his feelings?
"I'm sorry." Steve somehow managed to look very small, tucking his arms and legs close to his body. "I won't do it again."
"No...that's not..." Bucky looked over at Steve helplessly. The icy expanse between them was cracking and breaking, sending them sliding farther and farther away from each other. Bucky held out his hand, trying to grab hold of something before the last bit of solid ground fell away. "You didn't do anything...it's just...just something I...sorry, sorry, sorry..."
Steve's hand tentatively closed around his, and Bucky realized his eyes were screwed shut. It took a monumental effort to open them again. He peeked over at Steve, who was watching him with concern. Bucky dropped his gaze to their hands, now resting on the bench in between them. With a painful swallow, he forced himself to ask the one question he feared most: "You still want me now?"
Steve's grip tightened, squeezing his hand gently while his thumb ran over Bucky's knuckles. "Now. Tomorrow. Always."
And once again...how could he doubt it when he could see it so clearly in Steve's eyes? The rush of gratitude and affection in his chest made it hard to breathe. "Okay," he whispered.
Steve's smile was gently teasing. "'Okay'? That's it?"
"No!" he hastily amended. "I mean...me too. I want this too. It's just...I don't know why it's...so hard..."
"It's okay," Steve said. "We'll work through this. You'll see."
It was easy to say something confident and encouraging when Bucky needed him to. But as Steve lay in bed that night, gazing at what little he could see of Bucky's face on the pillow next to his, he felt anything but optimistic.
The night had begun so well. Sam had outdone himself in helping them create the perfect mood. The food had been delicious, the music was beautiful, and it had been so fun to dance with Bucky again. It had been like stepping through a magic portal into a world he thought he'd lost forever. They'd been able to set aside all of the awkwardness of recent days, forget about everything they'd lost and everything that had changed, and just be together.
And Steve had ruined everything. Again.
Bucky stirred, rolling onto his side to face Steve, but he didn't wake. Their hands were still clasped, lying in the space between their pillows. At least this time they hadn't ended the night in awkward silence, avoiding each other's gaze and not touching at all. Neither of them had wanted to do that again, so they'd made an extra effort to at least get back to square one before going to bed. Bucky had even given him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek when he said goodnight, so...that was progress, right?
Steve sighed. He'd been steeling himself all week, and that night had seemed like the perfect opportunity to prove once and for all that he was willing and able to give Bucky everything he needed. It didn't matter if he felt awkward and reluctant about the shift in their relationship. When Bucky had let his own feelings get the best of him and had kissed Steve passionately, Steve had reacted horribly. So Steve had been determined to prove to Bucky that he was desirable, that he was worthy of love, that he deserved to be happy.
And then Bucky had said, It's almost as if all you want is just me. And the knowledge that such a fundamental truth wasn't obvious had convinced Steve to take the plunge. Bucky needed to know, he needed to feel, that Steve would go to any lengths for him. Steve's own preferences didn't matter, not when it came to Bucky's heart.
He'd tried so hard. He'd done his best to imitate what Bucky had done, that night Steve had reacted so badly. He'd never kissed anyone so passionately, but he'd done his best to fill each movement with every last ounce of affection he felt for the person he loved more than anything.
The longer it had continued, the stronger had grown the urge to pull back. That same inexplicable something kept tugging at him, making him want to recoil just as he had before. Something akin to fear had made his heart pound harder and harder as he forced himself to keep going, because he refused to allow the same disastrous results as last time. So the more he felt the urge to stop, the more desperately he continued...until Bucky had stopped him.
Bucky had needed to stop him. Bucky had been forced to tell him he was going too far. Steve hated himself for that.
Bucky hadn't really explained why he'd put a stop to it when he had. His expression had said that he wasn't completely sure himself. But Steve had a pretty good idea, and it only made him feel even worse.
The position they'd been in—Steve holding Bucky in place, trapping him more and more as his kisses became more desperate—had pushed them too close to the line. The line that Bucky had clearly drawn as a boundary of what he was comfortable with. It didn't matter that Steve hadn't had the slightest intention of taking things any farther than a kiss. He'd given Bucky the message that he wanted to go all the way, and that had frightened Bucky.
He could never, ever do that to Bucky again.
Steve gently kissed Bucky's fingers, softly enough that Bucky didn't stir in his sleep. All of this was reminding him of that day...was it only a month and a half ago? It felt like a year since Bucky had taken off his mask. But just before he had, Steve had told Winter for the first time that he loved him, which had sent Winter spiraling into a panic attack. Steve could easily remember the pain and confusion he'd felt, trying to figure out why his good intentions had backfired so terribly.
Of course, he and Bucky had talked over every detail of that day, until Steve finally thought he understood what had been going through Winter's head. Most of Winter's fears had revolved around his certainty that Steve would abandon him as soon as he learned the truth. But Steve could see a parallel between Winter running off in a panic and Bucky pushing him away this time. Both times, Steve had frightened him. Smothered him. Placed upon him expectations that he didn't think he could meet.
It was a wonder Bucky still put up with him.
"I'll do better," he whispered to his sleeping companion. "I swear on my life, I'll do better."
The next day, Steve volunteered to go grocery shopping, even though it was Bucky's turn. Since Steve often joined him on his shopping trips, Bucky wondered if this time he just wanted to get away and have some time to himself. Time to process where their relationship was going—which was nowhere, as far as Bucky could tell.
While part of Bucky wanted to curl up in a ball of shame, knowing that he was the reason Steve needed to be alone, he was mostly just relieved that he had a chance to talk to Sam privately. It had been a long time since there had been anything he'd needed to discuss outside of Steve's presence, but he easily remembered how helpful Sam had been the last time he and Steve had been struggling to communicate.
Following a strong smell of bleach, Bucky found Sam on his knees in the bathroom, scrubbing at a stubborn bit of mold in a corner of the bathtub. "Hey, um...can I talk to you?"
Sam looked over his shoulder, and paused a moment as he looked at Bucky standing in the doorway. After all this time, he could probably tell at a glance that something serious was weighing on Bucky's mind. "Mind if I keep working?" When Bucky shook his head, Sam turned back to the tub. "Okay, shoot."
But now that it came down to it, Bucky had no idea where to start. "I...don't know what to do," he finally confessed. "With...about Steve, I mean."
"Something happen last night?" Sam quickly looked up. "Uh...without graphic details, please."
Bucky rolled his eyes. "Not like that. I mean..." He frowned, trying to untangle the knot of his thoughts into some kind of coherence. "I guess...I just feel like I'm holding him back. Like...we want different things. No, not different things, exactly, but..." He sighed in frustration. "I don't know, it just feels like we're on different pages. And I don't know how to get to his."
Sam set down his sponge long enough to peel back one glove and wipe his forehead on his wrist. He looked up at Bucky with an apologetic grimace. "Should I have just kept my big mouth shut and not brought this up in the first place, back then?"
After a moment's contemplation, Bucky decisively shook his head. "We needed to figure this out anyway. If perfect strangers are starting to wonder...we'll need to know what to tell people whose opinion we actually care about." Well, Bucky didn't really care what anybody else thought, but Steve's friends would definitely have questions for them.
He focused on Sam again. Okay...he did care what Sam thought of them. But Sam was easy; he would accept them no matter what they decided.
"This is what love is about, Bucky," Sam said thoughtfully. "It's not just 'How can I get what I need?' It's about compromise. Sometimes you have to shelve the things you might prefer to happen, for the sake of the relationship. You have to meet in the middle somewhere. Find what works for both of you. So maybe it's not about getting onto his page; you just have to find one in between that you're both happy with."
Slowly, Bucky nodded. Compromise. As in...sacrifice. If he truly loved Steve, he couldn't keep clinging to his own selfish preferences. If there was something Steve needed from him...he just had to let go of his own reservations. Steve was worth that much.
Bucky met Sam's eyes again. "Thanks. And...can I recruit your help?"
"Sure. What for?"
"Another date."
Steve had just begun to think that he and Bucky would be tiptoeing around each other forever when Bucky announced they were going to have another date at the end of the week. "Just something informal," he'd said. "You don't have to dress up or anything. I just...wanted to celebrate. Since it'll be a month."
It was surreal when he added up the days and realized Bucky was right. They had been exploring this new direction for their relationship for a whole month already...and yet, were they really any closer to figuring out how to make this work? Steve wondered if this frustrating wall they kept running into was something common for new couples. Or for those who had been friends for a long time first.
Even though Bucky had said not to dress up, Steve still checked himself in the mirror and tried to make sure he was presentable before venturing out to the backyard where Sam was grilling their supper for them. He and Bucky had done all the planning this time, similar to how Steve had planned out their last date. He wondered if he'd gone overboard last time. Maybe that had made Bucky tense, and now he was trying to keep everything as low-key and comfortable as possible.
Bucky met him in the doorway, carrying out a bowl of coleslaw. "Almost ready," he said with a smile.
Steve followed him to the picnic table next to the grill and glanced over the food. Hamburger buns with various condiments and toppings lined up next to them...the coleslaw, as well as a bowl of potato salad...several kinds of potato chips...a pitcher of pink lemonade, dripping with condensation...
"What do you think?" Bucky asked, fiddling with the stack of paper plates and not looking up.
"Very...romantic?" Steve said, unable to suppress a smile.
Bucky shrugged and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Doesn't have to be romantic. It's just...life. I want to spend my whole life with you. That's all."
The sound of crickets chirping in the woods and the smell of the meat sizzling on the grill faded away. The only thing of importance was Bucky standing there, slowly peeking through the strands of his hair to look at Steve.
Letting out his breath in a rush, Steve walked over to Bucky and gave him a kiss. "You're right," he murmured, resting their foreheads together. "And that is romantic enough for me."
"Woah, woah, hold the PDA till I get outta here!" Sam called, carrying over a steaming plate of hamburgers.
"Sorry," Steve chuckled, contenting himself with just holding Bucky's hand. Then, when Sam started opening the bag of hamburger buns, he asked, "What are you doing?"
"Eating the fruits of my labors," Sam said, putting together a hamburger and wrapping it up in a couple of napkins. He raised it in a salute, then headed back inside. "Catch you later!"
As Steve and Bucky filled their plates, they heard Sam drive off, leaving them alone. Maybe next time, they would actually go somewhere else for their date, and let Sam stay home.
Steve noticed that Bucky was barefoot, so he kicked off his shoes as well and settled down on the other side of the picnic table from him. "Aren't your feet cold?" Steve asked, finding them under the table with his toes. Sure enough, Bucky's feet were like blocks of ice—as they usually were, no matter how warm the day was.
Bucky shrugged. "Wanted to feel the grass."
Steve nodded and covered Bucky's feet with his own to keep them at least a little warmer. Bucky thanked him with a small smile before returning to his meal.
The silence between them this time was easy, free of the awkwardness that had clouded their last date. They'd never needed to say much, after all. They'd known each other for so long that a glance could often carry an entire conversation. Even when Steve hadn't known that Winter was Bucky, there had been many times when they would simply sit side-by-side, with no pressure for either of them to say a word.
Maybe both of them just needed to stop worrying so much about what they were doing. The only thing that mattered was that they loved each other. They could figure out anything else.
After the meal, they cleaned up the table and put away the food, just like any other day. Then they pulled ice cream sandwiches out of the freezer and sat on the bench out back, watching the sun set. It was the same place they'd sat on their last date, which had ended so disastrously. Steve kept an arm around Bucky's shoulders, but he was determined not to kiss Bucky this time. It was enough just to sit here with the one he loved.
It was like Bucky had said. This was just...life. And that was all Steve needed.
Once the last threads of pink and purple had faded from the sky, Steve crumpled up the wrappers from their ice cream and got to his feet. "Well? What now?"
"How about a dance?" Bucky suggested.
"All right." Steve took Bucky's hand as they went back inside. "Let me see if I can dig up some of that music again."
"I've got one," Bucky said quietly. He got the music set up while Steve turned on a few lamps and cleared away enough space for them.
Steve cocked his head when the first strains of the music met his ears. He knew this song. With a chuckle of amazement, he took Bucky's hand in his and slowly started to sway back and forth. "Did you know...this song was playing when I first saw you?"
Bucky blinked in surprise, stepping easily into the slow dance. "What?"
"Yeah," Steve said with a reminiscent smile. "I had a record of this...and it was playing that night...the first time I saw the Winter Soldier."
He realized his mistake when Bucky's face fell. "Was that when...did I come after you?"
"The Soldier shot Nick Fury, who was at my apartment," Steve said, placing an obvious stress on the title. "And you know...that was the first step. The first step towards getting you back."
Never thought that you would be
Standing here so close to me
Bucky looked earnestly into his eyes, his forehead knotted. "How?" he murmured. "How could you look at me and see anything but...?"
"Because I decided to."
There's so much I feel that I should say
But words can wait until some other day
Bucky gave him a frustrated frown. "You can't just decide something like that."
Steve smiled. "Sure you can. From the moment I found out what they did to you...I decided that I believed in you. I believed you were strong enough to resist. To stand up for yourself. I wanted to believe there was enough light in you to banish the darkness."
Kiss me once, then kiss me twice
Then kiss me once again
It's been a long, long time
He leaned in closer to whisper in Bucky's ear, "And guess what? I was right."
Bucky let out a deep breath and let go of Steve's hands to loop his arms around Steve's neck. He rested his head on Steve's shoulder as they swayed back and forth in time to the music.
Haven't felt like this, my dear
Since I can't remember when
It's been a long, long time
"I don't deserve you," Bucky whispered.
Steve rubbed Bucky's back as they swayed. "Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"
You'll never know how many dreams
I've dreamed about you
Or just how empty they all seemed without you
"You know..." Bucky said haltingly. "This...makes everything worth it. You make everything worth it."
Steve closed his eyes, thinking of all those years of torture and brainwashing. The blood staining his hands, which Steve knew bothered Bucky more than the memories of pain. The despair that had driven Bucky to cut himself, even try to kill himself. "Everything?"
Bucky pulled back and looked Steve straight in the eye. "Everything."
So kiss me once, then kiss me twice
Then kiss me once again
It's been a long, long time...
Their lips met as the song faded away into silence. This is all I want, Steve thought, and he hoped the kiss could convey some of that. I just want to make you happy. I just want you to know that you're worth everything. Everything I can do and more.
When they pulled apart, they were both a little breathless. Bucky's eyes glittered in the soft light of the lamps. His metal hand trailed down Steve's cheek, then reached for Steve's hand. "Okay," he murmured. "I think I'm ready."
"Ready for what?"
Bucky looked in the direction of Steve's room. The door was ajar, leaving a clear view of the neatly-made bed.
When Bucky looked back at Steve, it was one of those glances that stood for an entire conversation. Steve didn't have to ask Bucky what he meant when he raised his eyebrows and tilted his head toward the bedroom.
"Wait..." Steve said slowly, staring from the door to the man in front of him. "But...didn't you say that...I mean, I thought that was your limit..."
Bucky took a step towards the bedroom, tugging lightly on Steve's hand. "I changed my mind. Because...I realized...I have no limits when it comes to you, Stevie. I would do anything for you."
Steve's heart pounded as he let Bucky lead him slowly closer to the open doorway. But then...how could he refuse Bucky anything that he needed? So he drew a deep breath, looked into those intent blue eyes, and said, "Okay."
Bucky's heart was lodged in his throat as he closed the door behind them. Every sense seemed heightened—the colors sharper, the sounds louder, his nerves zinging with every brush of his clothes against his own skin. Adrenaline. He took a deep breath, but all that did was make him even more aware of Steve's smell. His enhanced senses could still pick up traces of Steve's aftershave on his own clothes.
Steve stood in the middle of the room, just watching him. Waiting for Bucky to make the first move. He looked a little nervous, but calm. Expectant.
Of course he did. Bucky had taken him by surprise, but this was what Steve had been wishing for all along, right? He was eager for this...but willing to take it slow, to let Bucky take the lead for once.
He really didn't deserve Steve.
"Take off your shirt," Bucky said quietly. But when he turned away to do the same, voices rose to the front of his mind out of nowhere.
"Take off your clothes."
"N-No, please..."
"Take off your clothes, boy!"
Bucky pulled the T-shirt over his head and let it drop to the floor, then found himself staring at his own bare chest.
"Soldier, strip him."
"P-Please, sir, I-I-I beg you..."
With a sharp intake of breath, Bucky clenched his fists and turned, forcing himself to focus on Steve instead. He hurried forward into Steve's ready embrace, trying to fill his mind with nothing but the sensations of Steve's warm skin against his, their lips pressing against each other...
Steve pulled back a little, watching him with a look of concern. "You okay?"
"Fine," Bucky said shortly, trying to kiss him again.
Steve gently rested a hand on his cheek to hold him back. "You're trembling," he murmured. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"
"Yes," he said. Because he had to be. This was his sacrifice. And nothing was going to keep him from giving everything he had to Steve. He gently pulled Steve over to the bed, then pushed on his shoulders to get him to sit down on the edge.
Steve looked up at him, his clear blue eyes watching him keenly. "Buck...we don't have to do this now if you don't want..."
Terrified blue eyes stared up into his, pleading desperately for mercy. Dirty blond hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat as he looked wildly around for escape. Rescue. But his cheeks, too young to know the touch of a razor, paled when he realized that he was alone.
Alone except for a monster and his mindless slave.
Bucky pushed Steve down onto his back, gently pulling his arms over his head with his metal hand.
"Bucky..."
"Hold him down."
Bucky swung one leg over Steve's, fumbling with his belt buckle.
"Wait...Buck..."
The jingle of a belt loosening. One last pleading glance from those terrified blue eyes, filling up with tears of fear and shame. His hands, as unemotional and unyielding as iron, holding the boy's wrists like shackles.
"Bucky, stop!"
A hand splayed on his chest, holding him at arm's length, yanked Bucky out of the dark recesses of a memory he'd tried so hard to forget. He blinked, watching as if in slow-motion as two tears fell from his eyes and splashed onto Steve's forehead beneath him. Then he realized that tears were pouring down his cheeks, and he was gasping for breath, his chest heaving against Steve's hand.
Steve's hand. Holding him back. He'd been telling Bucky to wait, to stop. But Bucky had kept going. He'd kept going. Steve had needed to physically stop him...right on the verge of... He'd almost...
With a shuddering, horrified gasp, Bucky threw himself back, away from Steve. He fell over the side of the bed and hit the floor with a thump, but he barely even felt the impact.
For a moment he stared, horror-stricken, into space. But when Steve sat up fully, Bucky scrambled backwards. He half-crawled into the farthest corner from the bed, pressed his forehead against the wall, and tried to breathe as huge, heaving sobs erupted from his chest.
Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was that man. All he could hear was the screaming and pleading of an innocent boy who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"Buck...?"
At the creaking sound of the mattress springs, Bucky wildly flung out a hand in that direction. "No, stay back!" he managed to choke out between his sobs.
Steve...lying beneath him...looking up at him with those blue, blue eyes... Like a boy, held down on a concrete floor... "No...no...no...no...no..." With each word, Bucky pounded his forehead against the wall, trying to beat out every sickening thought that kept crowding to the front of his mind.
"Bucky! Buck, please stop!"
He jerked away violently from the strong hands that clasped his bare shoulders. "Get away!" he howled, swinging his metal fist in a wide arc.
But one of those strong hands caught his fist and held it in place. Bucky blinked and saw Steve kneeling next to him, tears shimmering in his eyes as he clung to Bucky's left hand.
Steve, who loved him so much. Steve, who had been so gentle and considerate every step of the way. Steve, who had made himself so vulnerable...who had let Bucky take the lead...and he had almost...
Bucky pulled his arm free and curled in on himself, hugging his knees to his chest and burying his face in them as a new wave of broken sobs spilled out. When he felt Steve lightly touch his shoulder, he frantically shook his head, and Steve pulled his hand back. He could hear him retreating a few steps, then settling down on the floor.
"Buck...please, talk to me. Just tell me how I can help."
It felt like someone was ripping his heart from his chest with rusty forceps. He'd ruined everything. Everything. There was no way out of this situation, no way to take back anything he'd done, no way to restore Steve's good opinion of him. No one would ever want to so much as touch him if they knew...
"What happened?" Steve asked softly. "What went wrong?"
Bucky slammed his palm down on the floor, relishing the sudden surge of pain as much as the anger that suddenly welled up in his chest. "Don't you get it?" he yelled, tears still spilling down his cheeks. "I went wrong! I didn't stop! I said it would be fine, and it wasn't fine, and then I almost...and you said...but I...I didn't..."
He couldn't breathe. He needed to get out, away from the pained, confused look on Steve's face... With a shuddering gasp, he shot to his feet and staggered to the door.
"Wait, Buck!" Steve scrambled to his feet as well, holding out a hand. "Please, I...I don't understand..."
He didn't look over his shoulder as he opened the door. "Good." The door slammed shut behind him.
Steve's first impulse was to run after Bucky and help him. But Bucky had made it very clear that he didn't want Steve near him right now. Heaving a sigh, Steve sank down onto the bed. Where Bucky had guided him just minutes ago...
He didn't get it. Bucky had said he was ready. He'd seemed so eager to go through with this, much more than Steve himself had been, at least. But all of that had evaporated as soon as they'd closed the door. In just minutes, he'd gone from relaxed and happy to a full-blown panic attack.
Steve idly smoothed down the covers, which had gotten somewhat rumpled. If their positions had been reversed, and Steve had been the one holding Bucky down, it would have made a little more sense. But even though Bucky had been the one in control the whole time, even though Steve had asked him several times if he wanted to stop...he'd acted as though he was being forced to do something painful and frightening.
He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. It wasn't like Steve had asked him for this! He would have been perfectly content to carry on like they had been forever. As Bucky had said, all he wanted was to simply live life together. That didn't have to include sleeping with each other.
Surely Bucky knew that...right? Steve had agreed right at the beginning that they weren't going to go that far. He still couldn't figure out what could have changed Bucky's mind when it had seemed so firmly fixed.
Suddenly, he remembered something Bucky had said while they'd been dancing. I don't deserve you. Did he think he had to earn Steve's love? Still?
"Oh, Buck..." Steve dropped his head into his hands, staring blankly at the floor. Was that the reason he'd decided to try this? To somehow prove that he was a good lover, worthy of the man he looked up to so much?
Steve ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to push back tears. His own failure was like a leaden weight in his chest, making it hard to breathe. It was because of him that Bucky had found it necessary to exceed his own limits, to do things that somehow triggered such a primal fear that he'd hardly seemed to know where he was.
The more Steve thought about it, the more he realized how dreadfully he had failed Bucky. He thought of that night when he'd kissed Bucky and gone too far. He'd been trying to fill his role properly, but all it had done was make both of them uncomfortable. And what had he communicated to Bucky by smothering him with kisses and putting a hand on his leg? What else was Bucky supposed to think except that Steve wanted to sleep with him?
And what made Steve feel worse than ever was a truth he'd been trying not to acknowledge all this time: He'd been pretending.
He didn't want to sleep with Bucky. He didn't care about candlelit dinners, and holding hands in the moonlight didn't excite him half as much as a single glance from Peggy used to.
He just wanted to live with Bucky. He wanted to take care of him when he was hurting. He wanted to hold him when he cried. He wanted to hug him, kiss him, hold his hand, cradle him in his arms as they drifted off to sleep side-by-side. He wanted to meet Bucky's eyes and fill his heart with the knowledge that I love him and he loves me.
But every shape he'd been trying to contort himself into for Bucky's sake? It was a sham.
And because he hadn't told Bucky about how he truly felt, because he'd tried so hard to convince himself that he was in love with Bucky...Bucky had been hurt. He was hurting right now. Steve might as well have pinned Bucky down and forcibly reminded him of every time someone in Hydra had done the same.
It was his fault. If he'd just opened his mouth at any point, if he'd just been honest with both Bucky and himself, they would never have found themselves in this position. Bucky wouldn't have panicked. He wouldn't be plagued by whatever awful memories were haunting him, probably even now. And Steve would be able to help him. If only he hadn't been the source of the problem in the first place.
The crunch of gravel outside announced Sam's return, and Steve realized that more time had passed than he'd thought. He was tempted to go to Sam and unload all of his thoughts and fears on him. Sam would probably have some good advice for him, not to mention the sympathy and comfort that Steve craved.
But he just sat there, listening to the sounds of Sam locking the front door and walking down the hall to the bathroom, then his bedroom. The door shut softly behind him, and silence fell over the cabin. Somewhere in that silence, Bucky was holed up by himself, in pain. Maybe he was crying. Maybe he'd even fallen back on old temptations, and was hurting himself to somehow lessen the anguish in his mind—like when he'd started ramming his head against the wall, scaring Steve more than anything else.
Bucky was alone, and Steve couldn't help him.
Slowly, Steve got up from the bed and dragged himself over to the dresser, intending to get ready for bed. But then his hand fell on the shirt he'd taken off earlier, which he'd folded up and placed on top of the dresser. It was one of a matching pair of T-shirts that Bucky had picked out, each of which bore half of the message Nothing Makes Sense When We're Apart. It had seemed appropriate to wear matching shirts for their casual date this evening.
It had only been hours since then, but already it felt like years since they had been happy and content.
Steve closed his eyes against the pain for a moment, then pulled the shirt back on. Slowly, he opened the door, trying to keep it from squeaking too loudly, then he tiptoed across the living room to the hallway on the other side. He found the door to Bucky's room in the darkness, and came to a stop.
He couldn't hear anything on the other side of the thick wood. Hopefully, that meant Bucky had managed to get to sleep. Letting out a soft sigh, Steve reached out and pressed his palm to the closed door, as if he could somehow reach through it and touch Bucky. Just to hold him. Maybe make up for a little of the pain he'd caused.
He stood there for a long time, not moving, not making a sound. Finally, he turned and went reluctantly back to his own room.
You're disgusting.
"Yes."
You're a monster.
"Yes."
You deserve his rejection.
"Yes."
Bucky lay on his side on the floor of his room, his cold metal arm folded uncomfortably between him and the hard wood floor. Tears flowed slowly from his eyes, pooling on the floor. But he was too exhausted to wipe them away. Too tired to fight back.
The room was pitch black. He hadn't bothered to turn on a light. What was the point? The monster had filled the room with its darkness, and no mere electric bulb would have staved off the hallucination. He was powerless to resist...and what was more, he had no intention of resisting.
Because he deserved this.
You're worthless, the monster said, towering over him with a wide grin, relishing his pain. It was all Bucky could see: a cruel grin with too many teeth, and two eyes glowing red in the darkness. Worse than worthless. You couldn't stop him. You didn't even try. You helped him. That boy's blood—that boy's innocence—is on your hands. Forever. You carry this stain wherever you go. And everything you touch gets contaminated.
A shudder ran down Bucky's spine. He closed his eyes, but he couldn't escape the flashes of memory. Steve, lying beneath him. His wrists trapped by Bucky's unyielding grip. His eyes widening in terror as he pleaded tearfully for mercy...
No, no, that hadn't actually happened...had it? Bucky trembled, his mind whirling. He couldn't find his voice, but he mouthed, Steve... Even he wasn't sure if it was a plea or an apology.
Then he felt a warm hand on his back. Somehow, even without opening his eyes, he could tell who that hand belonged to as it settled between his shoulder blades, fingers splayed against his spine.
Of course, it wasn't the real Steve...
Of course it's not! the monster screamed, its voice howling all around him. Only a figment of your imagination would ever want to get close to you, you rotten piece of filth! The real Steve hates you! He can't stand the sight of you! Why would he ever want to—
Another hand touched Bucky's forehead. Bucky slowly opened his eyes and saw just a bit of Steve's arm and the edge of his knee as he knelt next to Bucky. A faint golden glow outlined him—not too bright to look at him, but giving off enough illumination that his very presence seemed to hold the shadows at bay.
The Steve from Bucky's mind didn't shout back at the monster. He didn't make any kind of retort, just sat there with one hand on Bucky's back and one on his forehead. And somehow, even though Steve didn't say anything, his touch seemed to clear Bucky's mind.
I can't change the past, he thought. I've done a lot of things I wish I could take back. They'll probably haunt me forever, and...I deserve that. But...
You can still choose your future, Steve finished for him, his voice as gentle and warm as the light pouring from his skin. You can still choose not to be defined by what they made you do.
You really think so? the monster sneered. Its many tentacles lashed out towards them, each one ending in a sharp claw. You really think you could ever be anything but a murderer? A liar? A pawn? At best, you're nothing but a puppet dancing on someone else's strings.
One of the monster's razor-sharp claws slipped under Steve's arm and stabbed right into Bucky's heart. He started at the sudden jolt of fear that skittered through him. Once again, he saw himself holding that boy down, following every command to the letter with as much emotion as a wooden toy. He saw himself killing dozens upon dozens of people—with a knife, with a gun, with his bare hands...
He saw himself pushing Steve down onto the bed, bending over him. Even though Steve told him to stop. Even though he himself wanted no part of it. Even though he was terrified, he kept going. Meeting objectives. Completing the mission. Unable to turn aside, as if someone had said the Words.
He saw himself dancing with Steve. Walking hand-in-hand. Sharing one of their long hugs that neither of them wanted to end. So happy, so full of love, every word and every motion a natural outpouring of what was in his heart.
But then...he saw himself kissing Steve. Not the way he normally did, but the way that made Steve recoil. He saw what had happened that night. He saw every time he'd tried to impress Steve, to be what he thought Steve needed.
It was like he was following orders. Like he was, once again, complying with someone's wishes despite his own. And that terrified him.
Was this what love was supposed to be? Was this the compromise Sam had been talking about? Because if it was...
"I can't do it," Bucky whispered. He didn't blame Steve at all; none of this was his fault. Steve hadn't forced anything on him; he'd been gentle and considerate every step of the way. It wasn't that Bucky was afraid of Steve coercing him to do something he didn't want. It just...
With a weary sigh, Bucky rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Doing these things with Steve...it was false. Going through the motions of an elaborate lie. Just like...
His breath caught in his throat. Just like the mask.
He'd been lying to Steve again, so soon after he'd promised himself he never would. Hadn't he learned his lesson? Didn't he know how much it hurt both of them when he pretended to be someone he wasn't? It wasn't fair to Steve.
"Oh, Steve..." Bucky murmured, tears welling up in his eyes again. He must be so worried...so confused... He'd have no idea what had happened. What if he was blaming himself? What if he thought all of this had happened because he'd done something wrong? Bucky easily remembered the sad, guilty look on Steve's face right before he'd taken his mask off.
No. Just like then, Steve deserved to know the truth now.
When Bucky sat up, he suddenly realized that the voices in his head had been silent for a while. That was surprising. Usually it was only after a monumental struggle that he was able to get the monster to fall silent—except, of course, when Steve or Sam showed up to distract him. But he was alone.
He needed to tell Steve. He needed to tell him everything, now. Before the monster came back and crippled him.
Bucky hastily dried his eyes and scrounged around for a shirt in the darkness, pulling it over his head as he left his room. He had made it halfway across the living room before he realized that everything was dark and silent. He didn't know what time of night it was, but it was obviously not a great time to throw all of this on Steve. But then...really, what would be a good time to tell him?
He hesitated when he reached Steve's room. He raised his hand to knock, but just ended up staring at the dark gap beneath the door. This felt an awful lot like those nights back when he'd been cutting himself, and he couldn't dredge up the courage to wake Steve up to help him.
This won't help him, he thought. It will hurt him...but then, I've already hurt him by lying to him...
He might have dithered back and forth for hours, but suddenly light appeared under the door. Bucky blinked, and had just enough time to realize what that meant when the door opened.
Steve and Bucky both started and took a step back when they found themselves suddenly face-to-face. Steve put a hand to his chest and gave him a tiny smile that looked more like a wince. "You startled me! I was just...going to get a drink..."
"Sorry," Bucky said. He swallowed, then stammered out, "I-I-I need...to...tell...to tell you s-something..."
"Of course." Steve stepped back and held the door open. "Come in?" He made it sound like a question, and when Bucky stepped through the door, he backed off like he was afraid of catching something.
Or maybe he was afraid of setting Bucky off again. He couldn't decide if Steve's expression was one of fear or concern, so he just closed the door behind himself and looked down at the floor instead. He kept one hand on the doorknob; he felt slightly safer knowing he was right next to the exit.
He took a deep breath. Just start at the beginning. "I'm sorry...for-for what...happened."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Steve holding out a placating hand. "You don't have to apologize for anything, Buck," he said, in the softest tone Bucky had ever heard.
Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and fought back the tears. Oh, but I do, Steve. I have so much to apologize for.
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to say in a tremulous voice, "It was...somewhere in eastern Europe. I don't know what country it was. There were mountains. People spoke Russian."
"Okay..." Steve slowly sank onto the edge of the bed. Distantly, Bucky realized that the sheets had only been disarranged on his side of the bed. Steve had been sleeping on Bucky's side.
Clearing his throat, Bucky continued, "We were moving the base to a more defensible location. Somewhere no one could find us. There was a village way up in the mountains. All the buildings were stone and concrete. So...all we had to do was sweep through and eliminate the villagers." He shuddered at his own impersonal description of the massacre. But he couldn't focus on the deaths of old men and children, or the blood running down the cobblestone streets...
He shook his head slightly. Focus. The truth. Just get it out. "There was...the-the leader, the head of the base. I don't remember...well, his name doesn't matter. He...there was something wrong with his arm. Gunshot wound, I think. Anyway, he... It was easier to move the c-cry-cryo equipment...if I wasn't in it. So he...pulled me out...and made me his bodyguard. During the...infiltration."
Bucky rubbed his sweaty palm on his shirt and licked lips that felt far too dry. He couldn't look up at Steve. If he did, he knew he would never be able to say what he had to. "He was...it was like he was looking for something. He could've stayed back till his men combed through the village, but he went off on his own. He ordered me to protect him, so...so I was...with him."
A rattling sound alerted him that he was trembling. Even his metal hand was shaking against the doorknob. He hastily let go before he accidentally ripped it out of the door or something, and instead he hugged himself tightly. "He finally found what he wanted. A boy. Maybe...ten? Twelve? Told me to...grab him. Take him...into an...empty building."
He had to force each word out through a throat that was collapsing in on itself. It was like drowning, each word a desperate gasp of air that only let in more water. "He could...only use...one arm. So...So he...told me to...strip...the boy...and...and h-hold him...hold him d-down...while..."
"No..."
That word, the first one Steve had uttered since Bucky had started his story, made Bucky start and look up. He wished he hadn't. The horror in Steve's tear-filled eyes was more than he could bear. Steve had a hand pressed to his mouth, and he was just staring at Bucky. Seeing his true colors at last. Seeing the broken, twisted, mangled thing that had once been his best friend.
Bucky felt sick. But this was a sickness he would never be able to expel. When he drew another breath, it immediately turned into a sob. He hastily brushed his tears away. He had no right to cry or feel sorry for himself. Not when he'd done something so terrible...
"That's why," he choked out, opening the door again. "That's...I remembered that...when..." He gestured jerkily to the bed.
"Oh, Buck...I'm so sorry..."
The sound of Steve's...sympathy? Pity? Whatever it was, it felt like a knife in the ribs, so he turned to go. "I...I c-can't, Steve. I'm sorry. I can't."
He closed the door softly behind him and retreated to his own room. When he got there, he curled up under the covers and muffled his tears in the pillow.
Steve hadn't slept all night. Before Bucky had shown up outside his door, he'd tried to sleep, but eventually had just pressed his face into Bucky's pillow and breathed in the smell of his hair. And after Bucky had told him the full story behind his panic attack, he didn't even try to fall asleep.
First, he cried. He cried for the victims of Hydra's cruelty. He cried for the innocent boy—so young—whose very humanity had been violated in the cruelest possible way. And he cried for Bucky. Bucky, who hadn't even had the chance to fight back against the terrible orders he'd been given. Bucky, who had been used like a tool and then left with the harrowing memories of what had been done through him. Bucky, who had not only had the courage to tell Steve about it, but felt the need to apologize. As if Steve would ever blame him—either for the memory itself or for the reaction he'd had when he'd been reminded of it.
Finally, Steve exhausted himself enough that his tears dried up, but he still couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, his vivid imagination conjured up disturbing images of what Bucky had told him. And every time that happened, he found himself torn between wanting to hold Bucky and never let go, or to hunt down whoever that Hydra leader had been and hope he was still alive so Steve could wring his neck. By the time he was finished with that particular daydream, he remembered that it had been his fault that Bucky had put himself in a position to remember these awful things in the first place. And the cycle began again.
None of these thoughts were very conducive to a restful night.
Finally, when a greyish light was beginning to show behind the curtains, Steve got up, washed his face, and got dressed. He just wanted to get out of this room. Maybe go for a walk, cool his head. Take some time alone so he could try to figure out what he was supposed to do next.
He carried his walking shoes out to the front door, and was just tying them when he suddenly became aware that he wasn't alone. Bucky stood watching him, his hair rumpled and still wearing the same clothes as last night. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot from too much crying.
Steve hastily stood and turned to the front door. He didn't think he could look at Bucky right now; if he did, he was sure he would start crying again. "I'm going for a walk," he said shortly, reaching for the door handle.
"Wait," Bucky said quietly behind him. "Please...just hear me out. You don't have to...respond or anything."
Steve closed his eyes for a moment, guilt clenching his heart. Reacting to Bucky like this probably made him think that he was disgusted with him because of what Bucky had said last night. He couldn't do that to Bucky. "You're right," he said, turning back and forcing himself to meet Bucky's gaze. "I'm sorry."
Bucky took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. "I just want you to know...that whatever you think of me...even if you...don't want me anymore...I love you."
Steve's breath left him in a rush. Those words shouldn't have been surprising, not after all they'd meant to each other over the years. But somehow...there was something different about the way Bucky said it this time. Or rather...there was something familiar. Something he hadn't heard in what felt like an eternity.
If he'd thought he'd expended all of his tears, Steve discovered he was wrong. His vision swam, and he didn't think he could have spoken in that moment even if he'd been able to find the right words.
"See...I've been doing a lot of thinking," Bucky said slowly, as if picking each word carefully. "And the thing is...I've been lying to you. And I'm sorry."
"What do you...?" Steve's voice broke, and he couldn't complete his sentence.
"I've been pretending to be someone I'm not," Bucky said with a deep sigh. "Ever since that day...when we started this whole thing...I've been pretending to be the person I thought you'd want me to be. Someone who would love you...in every way physically possible. But...that's not me, Stevie. I'm sorry. And pretending to be that person...it's too much like Hydra. I...I can't do it."
Steve opened his mouth to reply, but he couldn't find his voice in the tangle of his emotions.
Bucky squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, and Steve thought he caught sight of tears shimmering on his eyelashes. When Bucky continued, his voice was soft but strong as he looked straight into Steve's eyes.
"I'll tell you who I am. I'm someone who loves you, Steven Grant Rogers. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to take care of you. I want to be there for you when you need me. I want to cry on your shoulder, and let you cry on mine. I want to hug you, make you feel as safe as you always make me feel. I want to be able to talk about anything and everything. I want to kiss you when there aren't enough words. I want to go on walks and rides with you, I want to run and fight at your side, I want to play games with you and read books with you and share meals and sleep next to you. I want to hold your hand and know you're there. I just want to live with you."
Bucky swallowed hard, twin tears making tracks down his cheeks. "I...I know that's a lot to ask," he said in a choked voice. "I know you probably don't even want to look at me again, but...I'm not going to lie to you anymore. That's what I want. Nothing more. Nothing less."
A dozen emotions swelled in Steve's chest, expanding till he couldn't tell where one ended and another began. But most prominent in his heart, more powerful than any of the other emotions was...relief.
With a tear-choked, strangled laugh, Steve closed the distance between them and placed a gentle, deliberate kiss on Bucky's lips. It wasn't one of those desperate, intense kisses he'd been trying to give because he thought it was what Bucky needed. He wasn't pretending anymore. The only thing he was trying to do was pour every ounce of affection he felt for his best friend into this one action.
He pressed their foreheads together, gathering Bucky into his arms. "Can I tell you who I am? Because I've been lying too." He sniffled, pulling back just enough to look into Bucky's wide eyes. "I'm someone who loves you, James Buchanan Barnes. And everything you want...that's all I want too. It's all I've ever wanted. And I'm sorry if...if I ever made you feel...that you had to give me anything else."
Bucky just stared at him, chin trembling, until finally he whispered, "You mean...you really love me? Still? Even now...that you know..."
Steve brushed aside a strand of his hair and gently pressed his palm to Bucky's wet cheek. He looked straight into Bucky's eyes. "I have never loved you more than I do right now. I loved you through every moment of what you told me. I didn't stop loving you for a single instant, and I never will. You have my word on that."
They held each other as tightly as they could, somehow finding strength in each other even as they cried weakly on each other's shoulders.
Just as they always had. Just as it always should be.
"So, basically..." Bucky summed up, walking slowly along the trail through the forest, "you were trying to romance me because you thought I wanted you to romance me."
Steve walked alongside him, their hands clasped. "And you thought that's what I wanted," he finished for him, "so you tried to fill the same role for me."
Bucky let out a chuckle as they came to a stop in the clearing at the end of the trail. The same clearing where they'd had that conversation a month ago, where this ill-fated little adventure of theirs had begun. "So if we'd both just been a little more selfish and said up front what we actually wanted, none of this would have happened."
Steve laughed and let go of Bucky's hand so he could wrap his arm around Bucky's shoulders instead. "We're a couple of old fools, aren't we?"
Bucky leaned against Steve's comforting warmth, smiling up at the sunlight streaming through the branches of the trees all around. It would be a warm day, but it was still early, and the morning breeze was chilly. "I guess we should've known better," he said softly. "You're my brother. You always have been."
"And always will be," Steve added, kissing him heartily on the cheek.
Bucky frowned. "Will we...have to stop doing those kinds of things?"
"What, kissing you?" Steve cocked his head to one side. "Do you want me to stop?"
Staring down at a line of ants crawling across the dirt, Bucky shook his head. "No, but...won't people think we're...? I mean, they'll talk..."
Steve shrugged. "They'll talk no matter what we do. But as long as you know how much I love you...I don't care what anyone else thinks."
Bucky looked up and found Steve smiling gently at him, the sunlight turning his eyelashes into threads of gold. "You know...for a while I thought this made sense because it was the next step. If I could go through the motions, it meant I loved you more than I did before. But...I don't think that's true anymore. This is just a different kind of love, I guess. And...with every day, I just end up loving you more and more."
Beaming, Steve said, "I never wanted you to be my lover. I just wanted you to love me."
Their eyes met, and they both snorted with laughter at the same time. "You're such a stupid punk."
"And you're such a stupid jerk."
Still laughing, Bucky hugged Steve. They'd been doing a lot of that this morning, and Bucky knew he could still use some more. In some ways, it felt like they'd just been reunited after a month apart, even though they'd been right next to each other this whole time.
Resting his chin on Steve's shoulder, Bucky said cautiously, "But...I don't think this was all a waste."
"No," Steve agreed. "At least we know for sure now, right? And I think we've learned our lesson," he added with a sad sort of chuckle. "No more secrets, okay?"
"Okay..." Bucky said hesitantly. His insides shriveled as he remembered what he'd told Steve last night. How could they be blithely strolling along and laughing, with that shadow hanging over them?
And there were other shadows in his past. Lots of secrets he was keeping, intentionally or not, things he was pretty sure he never wanted to think about again, let alone tell another soul...
As if he could read his mind, Steve gently rubbed a hand up and down Bucky's back and murmured, "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, Buck. I'll never ask you to share something you're not ready to talk about. But...whenever you do have something you want to tell me—about your past, about how you're feeling, anything—I'm always ready to listen. I'm honored that you want to tell me these things.
"But here's my promise to you now," he continued, his hand coming to rest between Bucky's shoulder blades, warm and comforting. "You never have to tell me anything more than once. You can give me as many or as few details as you want, and we don't ever have to talk about it again unless you want to. And...as many times as you need to ask...even if it's every day, every hour...I will remind you that I love you. I love you at your best, and I love you at your worst."
Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. He was going to cry again, as if he hadn't done enough of that already. "How...can I ever...deserve you?"
"Don't even try," Steve whispered in his ear. "I decided I was going to love you a long time ago, and nothing's going to change my mind now."
He let out a choked, hiccuping laugh. "You can't just decide something like that..."
Steve smiled against his neck, where he could feel it. "Just you try and stop me."
Bucky sniffled, but he couldn't keep back a grin of his own. "Nah, I know how stubborn you are." He fell silent for a moment or two, then timidly said, "Stevie? Can...Can I decide that too? Can I decide to love you more than anyone else in the whole wide world?"
A spasm in Steve's chest suggested that he was trying to suppress a sob. "Do you?" he whispered.
"Yeah," Bucky said, closing his eyes and resting his head against his best friend's. "From the first day I met you."
They were silent for a long time. The only sounds in the clearing were the cheerful calls of birds greeting the morning, the chattering of squirrels leaping from branch to branch, the cool breeze rustling through the leaves. Bucky could feel Steve's heart beating steadily against his, each thump healing another hairline fracture in Bucky's soul.
It was only when they finally broke apart and started heading back to the cabin that they finally broke the silence. Threading his fingers through Steve's, Bucky asked, "So...what are we going to tell Sam?"
Steve grinned cheekily. "I think we can let him know that he doesn't need to buy another bed...but he doesn't need to buy earplugs either."
Very pleasant have you been to me;
your love to me was extraordinary,
surpassing the love of women.
- 2 Samuel 1:26
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