Summary: It's been eight months since Bucky left Steve laying on the beach. How will he react when he comes home one night with his door ajar and a familiar face waiting for him in his living room?

Warning: This is a Steve x Bucky fic. Don't like, don't read.

(Author's Note): I wrote this for a friend last year after we went and saw The Winter Soldier. Thanks, Morgan, for encouraging me to write this and thank you being my friend even when it probably would've been easier not to be! I love you, you beautiful ginger creature!

After that, not much more was said, not much more needed to be said, at least for that night. So, in a comfortable silence, Steve offered Bucky the bed, refusing to accept any answer other than yes, and situated himself on his couch for the night.

Somehow, Steve knew that if he went to sleep at that moment that no nightmares would come to him, that he would drift comfortably into the darkness of sleep and wake up comfortably in the morning. But, as luck would have it, Steve could not sleep.

His mind was much too busy for sleep, racing with memories of the talk he had had not half an hour prior. But, more than that, his mind was stuck on one question, a question that was eating away at every inch of the soldier: do I tell him?

This question, this one burden of a question, stemmed from the one thing Steve was not eager to add to Bucky's knowledge of his past. This was the one thing Steve was not sure would return to Bucky.

This thing was a product of a lifetime spent together, of a friendship built from childhood, of a force Steve had not understood then and did not understand now. This thing had never truly been discussed by the two friends, and Steve was not sure if he ever wanted it to be discussed, because this thing was a cancer. It grew and festered and took over every aspect of the life they had lived all those years ago, it didn't matter that they ignored it, it grew all the same.

This thing had terrified Steve back then and it terrified him now. He did not know if Bucky's amnesia had eradicated his cancer, but Steve's was alive and had been lying dormant until the day he saw Bucky once more, so the last thing Steve wanted to do was bring up the subject of the cancer if Bucky was unaware that it had ever existed.

Steve knew that if he spoke of it, much less instigated it, and Bucky had no knowledge of the thing, that any hope of rebuilding their friendship would be eradicated along with whatever dignity and happiness Steve had left.

And, as Steve lay on his couch, different scenarios playing in his mind, he could not help but to think back on the one time they had ever acknowledged the thing:

Steve and Bucky got ready in silence, each engrossed in the different buckles and buttons on their uniforms that required incessant amounts of fixing and tightening before they were fit to head out to the field.

The day had not been significant, there had been no noteworthy events, nor did the mission waiting for them seem much more difficult than the last, but somehow, the two friends knew something was off. There was a heaviness in the air and it seemed to weigh on their shoulders alone, making time move slow and their movements slower, which most likely accounted for the fact that the pair soon found themselves to be the only ones remaining in the base locker room.

Being alone together was not a new occurrence. Being childhood friends had left them with many times consisting of just the two of them, but never had it felt quite like this. Never had Steve felt such a foreboding as he did in that moment, and it was this feeling that Steve would later blame for the words that left his mouth.

"Bucky… there is something I've been meaning to talk to you about," Steve said quietly, turning to face his friend, but unable to meet his gaze, "I don't know what it is exactly… I can't explain it… and I have no idea of knowing whether or not you'll know what I'm talking about… but, see, the thing is I-"

"Stop," Bucky interrupted, placing a firm hand on Steve's hunched shoulders, prompting the soldier to look up into his friend's eyes with some mix of dread and shame, "you don't have to… you don't have to say it."

"But, you don't understand," Steve pleaded. Now that he had started, he was determined to finish, determined to finally get the awful weight off his chest.

"Shut up for a minute, will ya?" Bucky smiled shyly, sheepishly, "I do understand. You don't think I do, but I do. I know what you're feeling and… me too."

Steve's breath caught, but he was determined and forced his words passed the lump in his throat, "can't you just let me say it? Just so I know that we really are talking about the same thing?"

"No," Bucky shook his head, and Steve's heart dropped a little, but felt it rise slightly as Bucky added, "no, because… I'm scared… I've been scared… this thing… as stupid as it sounds, this thing scares me so much more than any goddamn Nazi bastard ever could… I'm scared of what it means… So, for now, let's leave it at this and… when we get back… we'll figure this out… okay?"

"But, Bucky, I-"

"Hey, hurry up in there!" a voice interrupted from the entrance of the room, "we've got to get going soon!"

"We're coming," Bucky replied, then waited until the sound of the intruder's boots faded away and they were alone once more, "look, we've got to go. We'll figure all this out when we get back, so, until then-"

"But, Bucky I-"

"Stop," Bucky said, his voice firm, "I said we'll figure it out when we get back, so, until then, just be happy with this, okay?"

And, before Steve had time to reply, Bucky leaned up and planted a shy, gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Come on then," Bucky said, the blush burning across his face betraying his stern tone, "you goddamn punk."

"F-fine, j-jerk," Steve stammered, heat radiating from the place on his cheek where rough, chapped lips had brushed not seconds before, "but you can't chicken out!"

"I know, I know," Bucky muttered, unable to keep a small smile from twitching at his lips, "I promise, we'll talk the second we get back."

They never came back.

R&R