A/N: Hello, lovelies!

At first, Steve was sure he had to have done something wrong. Of course he had. Why else would Bucky be pretending he didn't exist? After all, Steve's passing crush on the school's attractive basketball team captain had only gotten worse every second they hung out.

What had happened between them was something Steve had daydreamed about; something that gave him a shiver whenever Bucky was close to him. That had to be some kind of dishonest—to sit next to a guy almost every day, have that guy over to your house, touch him, play-fight with him, whatever, and never tell him that the whole time, he wanted to do much more. That sometimes, when Bucky smiled, it made Steve's entire day better.

The kiss had been everything Steve had wanted for months now, so it took him a few days of replaying it over and over again in his mind to be sure. He always arrived at the same conclusion: He hadn't been the one to initiate the kiss. Bucky had kissed him.

James Buchanan Barnes had kissed him.

And then, James Buchanan Barnes had well and thoroughly ditched him.

Maybe it was lucky that it all happened the last two weeks of school. Steve didn't know how he could have stood it otherwise. He'd been alone, virtually friendless except for an awkward soul here and there, most of his life. This time was different. Bucky wasn't just some random person who'd eaten lunch with him for a few weeks and then gone on to better things. Bucky was his best friend.

And, yeah. He, maybe, had more than a crush on him at that point. Which really was at least ten kinds of stupid. He'd indulged himself too often; let himself imagine what would happen if Bucky—who was always in his personal space—leaned in those last few inches.

He had. Bucky had been the one to pin him to the floor. Bucky had been the one who kissed him.

Now, Bucky was not only ignoring him, but he seemed to be making it a point to parade girls in front of him. He always passed by his table at lunch with his arm slung around some girl.

But Bucky had been the one to kiss him.

The first week of summer passed painfully slowly. Steve started to remember how he'd come to know Bucky in the first place. How being alone in the apartment he shared with his mother always made him restless and sad. How he used to break into houses just because it was something to do.

And one time, he'd broken into a house with a familiar face in the pictures on the wall.

It was nine days after school ended that someone knocked on the door. Steve jumped up, grateful for the distraction. He'd already worn out every page of one drawing pad and started on another. His fingers were cramped.

The last person he expected to find on the other side of the door was Bucky. Steve sucked in a sharp breath. He stared. Bucky stared back. He looked like hell—his hair was a wreck, his cheeks were stubbled, and his eyes were tortured. Steve opened his mouth to ask what the hell had happened, but Bucky spoke first.

"Is your mom here?"

Steve blinked. "What? No."

Bucky huffed. "Good," he said under his breath.

Before Steve could ask what the hell he meant, Bucky had grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. He pushed him inside the apartment and followed him in. He slammed the door, spun Steve around, and shoved him up against it.

Steve gasped, expecting a punch. Bucky didn't punch him. He kissed him. Steve gasped again and then groaned into Bucky's mouth. His hand had been trapped between them, and he spread it wide over Bucky's chest. Bucky's lips were relentless. Steve's head spun.

Then, with all his strength, Steve pushed Bucky away. Bucky kept ahold of his shirt, so it didn't do much good. Steve just ended up being yanked right along with him. They stumbled, and Bucky dropped one hand, his arm around Steve's waist to steady him. They stared at each other again, both panting. Steve's lips felt bruised. He licked them, and Bucky's eyes darted there and back quickly.

"You kissed me," Steve said stupidly.

"Uh. Yeah."

"Not right now. I mean…" Steve huffed and shook his head, trying to clear it. "Before. You kissed me."

Bucky's lip twitched as though he was fighting a grimace. "Yeah." He still hadn't let him go.

"Then, you got pissed at me for it." Steve didn't like injustice. Not even from Bucky.

Bucky winced. "Yeah," he said, his voice soft. He ducked his head, ashamed, but his fingers stroked along the small of Steve's back, making nonsensical designs. "I, uh… I don't know. I just don't know."

"What don't you know?" Bucky's nearness was kinda making him dizzy. Plus the way he was touching him sent thrills up his spine and distracted Steve from the fact he was supposed to be mad.

"I don't know why I did that," Bucky said.

"You don't know why you kissed me, or you don't know why you got pissed at me for it?"

"All of it." Bucky raised a tentative hand and touched Steve's face. Just as quickly, he pulled back as though he'd been burned and took a step away from him, wrapping his arms around himself. "It's just that Alexander...He says…"

Then, Steve understood, and if he could have kicked himself, he would have. He'd felt so damn sorry for himself since Bucky ran out on him, he hadn't stopped to think about what the whole thing with Alexander meant. That whole thing confused the hell out of Steve, so it must have been ten times worse for Bucky.

"You don't have to say anything," Steve said, unable to watch Bucky struggle for words anymore.

His friend shook his head. "No, I do. It was a shitty thing, okay? I know that. I guess that's just another thing Alexander is right about. I'm… I'm an asshole."

Steve clenched his fists at his side, angry for a reason he couldn't identify. "Your stepfather is the asshole. Don't listen to anything he says."

Bucky raised his head. "How would you know?"

Steve froze. He'd never met Bucky's stepfather. Now wasn't the time to bring up how he knew just how much of an asshole Alexander Pierce was. "From what you said."

Bucky nodded and shrugged. "Doesn't mean he isn't right about some things." He rubbed his shoulders and looked away. "He said I was a faggot."

The way his voice sounded then—tiny and lost—made Steve want to break things. He didn't know why. He didn't know anything, really, except that he hated Bucky's stepfather. "He's still a prick." He touched Bucky's shoulder, trying to figure out how to get him to come out of that weird, defensive posture. He was used to Bucky's confidence. He didn't like seeing him like this—like he was trying to make himself smaller.

Bucky sighed and shuffled closer. "I missed the hell out of you, Steve."

"Yeah." Steve shuffled closer too. "I missed you too."

All at once, Bucky came forward again. He looped his arms around Steve's waist and ducked his head against his shoulder. Slowly, Steve hugged him back. He closed his eyes, and just kind of breathed him in.

Whatever the hell this was, Steve would take it.

~Now~

Director Fury was one of the few men on the planet who could intimidate Steve Rogers. As such, he found it difficult not to squirm as Fury stared him down from across his pristine desk.

"I wonder if you're aware, Rogers, that you chose to work on the side of the prosecution. It's been some time now." Fury leaned back, his hands clasped and his gaze cool. "Perhaps you've become confused."

The corner of Steve's mouth twitched in mild irritation. "Do you have a problem with the case I'm currently assigned to? Have I misstepped somewhere?"

"The case your currently assigned to? No." He leaned forward now. "When you gave up the Barnes case, I assumed your intention was to not be involved, not to join the defense."

Steve had wondered how long Tony would keep his mouth shut about the whole thing. There was only so much he could take before he would snitch to daddy. "I think I would have remembered if I was employed at Romanoff and Barton."

"No, your work for them seems to be some kind of charity," Fury snapped. "What I know is that you were asking questions about a grieving widower, and suddenly Romanoff is digging into the past, stirring up things that were better left under a layer of dust."

"I think what you mean, sir, is that one of NYPD's finest seems to be at the center of an epidemic of bad things happen under mysterious circumstances around cons and ex-cons that have some connection to him. Accidental deaths of prisoners, more than one allegation of evidence planting. Then, there were two ex-girlfriends who alleged abuse-cases dropped-and the one ex-girlfriend whose death could be considered questionable. I could go on." He worked to keep his jaw unclenched. "And a long history of investigations closed too quickly to be thorough. I can see why it's upsetting to you, sir. We work closely with the NYPD, after all, and an embarrassment to them is an embarrassment to us."

Fury's jaw was taut. "So why-"

"Because I'd rather you, me, and the entire NYPD be embarrassed than send an innocent man to jail for the rest of his life."

"You have no guarantee he's innocent."

"I have reasonable doubt." Steve breathed in through his nose and out again. "I didn't do any of the legwork. Natasha did all of it."

"That you worked with her at all is a conflict of interest."

"I didn't work with her, sir. Nothing official. I-"

Fury held up a hand. He gave a huff, obviously disgruntled. "Romanoff is going to win this case," he said after a moment.

"Nothing is set in stone, sir." Steve had to keep reminding himself.

Fury scoffed. "She's good at creating reasonable doubt out of thin air, and this asshole gave her more than enough to work with." He grimaced. "You think he slaughtered his own wife?"

"I think he has little regard for people in general and a history of violence."

"And your friend? What does he have?"

Steve ducked his head. "A history of bad decisions made while under the influence, but absolutely no blood on his hands."

"That we can prove."

Steve looked up and looked his boss in his one good eye. "Yes, sir."

Fury held his gaze for another long moment before he nodded. "You requested time off next week."

"Yes, sir."

"Right when the trial starts."

"Yes, sir."

Fury tilted his head. "You know you can't be seen at that trial, right?"

Again, Steve's lip twitched. "With all due respect, Director, I'm going to be there."

"It's that important to you?"

If he wasn't there for Bucky, no one else was going to be. "He's my friend."

"And your friend is worth the risk to your reputation?"

"Yes," Steve said without hesitation.

"Hmm." Fury ran a hand over his mouth. "You're one of the better men I've known, Rogers. If this is the right move, Stark will get over losing. You might have some bridges to mend, especially with the NYPD, depending on how nasty this gets."

"Nothing I can't handle."

"I believe that. One more thing, Rogers."

"Yes, sir?"

Fury glared at him again-the kind of stare that put the fear of God in him. "I ever catch you playing for the wrong team again, and you better hope there's a position open at Romanoff and Barton."

"Fair enough, sir."

~0~

Two weeks. The trial took two soul-crushing weeks during which Steve learned things about his friend that broke his heart. As Fury had predicted, Natasha presented a great case for the defense to combat Tony's smart, pointed prosecution. It was a tough call. The jury deliberated through the night.

Because he'd been stuck at work, Steve almost didn't make it to the verdict. He came in just as the jury was filing back into the courtroom, and so took the first seat in the back, his knees too weak to hold him. Steve bowed his head, wringing his hands. His heart was pounding out of control and stuck in his throat. His stomach churned.

Bucky's story couldn't end this way. It just couldn't.

"We, the jury, find the defendant not guilty on all charges."

Steve let out the breath he'd been holding with a whoosh. He stared at the ground, blinking for a few seconds and replaying the words to be sure he'd heard correctly. The courtroom was noisy. Someone from the victim's family was crying loudly.

Raising his head, Steve's eyes went right to Bucky. His friend was turned in his seat, facing Natasha. Even from the side, Steve could see his eyes were wide with shock. She was shaking his hand.

Steve rose and made his way to the front. "Buck," he called when he was standing behind the barrier.

Bucky whirled around. He was clean-shaved and finely dressed in the suit Steve had bought for him. His face was bone white and his eyes still wide. "Steve?" he said, his voice raw.

"You got it, buddy. It's over." Steve reached across the barrier to put his hand on Bucky's shoulder.

"I...That's...That's it?"

"Yeah." Steve grinned. "Yeah, you're safe now. You're good."

Bucky looked him in the eyes and blinked several times. Then, he surged forward. Steve caught him automatically, holding him as close as he could over the barrier between them. Bucky was shaking. Clearly, he'd been a lot more scared than he'd let on.

"It's gonna be okay, Buck," Steve said. People were staring, but Steve didn't care. He'd wanted to give Bucky this hug since the last day he saw him in high school; since he walked away with tears and hate in his eyes. "It's gonna be okay."

A/N: Thanks for waiting, doves.