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!

Steve awoke the next morning and, for a moment, couldn't remember why he was on the couch or how he had managed to sleep through the night. It wasn't until he caught a glimpse of the overcoat hung on the back of a chair that he remembered who was sleeping in his bed not two rooms away.

As far as Steve could tell, his surprise house guest had not yet awoken, and he was glad for it, mostly because he had not yet thought of how to interact with his old friend, but also because a plan of the more innocent sorts came to him when he remembered that he had done his grocery shopping the day before.

So, happy for the distraction, Steve pushed his other, more worrying, thoughts aside, and set to work with a small smile on his face.

Nearly an hour later, his guest still not yet emerged, Steve found himself standing in the doorway of his own bedroom, his plan coming to a shuttering halt at what met him inside the room.

No training, no wisdom, no inordinate amount of time could have prepared Steve for the heart stopping, earth shattering, breathtaking sight of Bucky sleeping on his bed.

He was not beautiful or delicate, he was not a sleeping damsel from some fairy tale. The figure laying on the bed was not all willowy limbs and slender hips and flowing, tidy locks of hair. He emitted no grace or elegance.

He was solid in his build and disheveled in appearance. He was not perfect in the general sense of the word, with long limbs tangled in the blankets and spread oddly across the bed, thick muscles rippling with every movement, metal prosthetic clashing strangely among the alabaster flesh and sea of fabric, dark untidy hair spread out against the white pillows, and his features, while marginally more relaxed and peaceful than during consciousness, still held a grim quality that hinted at the lifetime of suffering their owner had lived.

All the confidence and cheerfulness Steve had felt only moments ago disappeared as, once his heart rate had finally returned to normal, he found himself utterly incapable of entering the room.

Steve's mind was racing with every possible scenario he could think of, leaving all other body functions, such as movement and breathing, out of the question. He had no idea what he had planned to do after that point. He had no idea what to say or how to act once his guest was awake and was not confident in himself not to give away the darker thoughts lurking in his mind.

He was growing increasingly uncomfortable as he stood, tray held delicately in his hands, eyes unfocused and aimed at the foot of the bed, and teeth worrying at his lower lip as he thought. For a moment, he considered turning around and pretending none of it had ever happened, but there was a movement from inside the room that caught his eye and cleared his mind enough for his eyes to refocus.

"How long are you planning on standing there in the doorway?" Bucky smirked, looking at Steve with a drowsy, sleep drunk gaze.

"Thought I would wait until you decided to rejoin the land of the living," Steve smirked back, trying to hide the sick nervousness that was twisting violently in his stomach.

"Well, here I am," Bucky chuckled, "what've you got there?"

Steve blushed as he remembered the tray in his hands, he looked down at it and felt a bit of shame at his plan. It was too intimate, too suggestive, but it was done and he couldn't back down now, "I figured you'd be hungry. You, um, always used to like it when I cooked."

If Bucky caught on to the true nature of Steve's sheepishness, he was generous enough not to acknowledge it, instead smiling warmly and propping himself up on his elbows, "well, by the smell of it, I would say it was for good reasons."

Steve couldn't help but to smile despite the blush burning across his cheeks, "you better be glad I went grocery shopping yesterday, it's just me here so usually the food is few and far between."

"Just you?" Bucky's eyebrow rose, "come on, don't tell me there isn't somebody."

Without thinking it through, Steve answered, "Well… I mean… There is one person, I suppose, but…" mortified, he avoided eye contact with the man on the bed as he stepped forward to offer the tray, knowing that he had no choice but to continue speaking now, "but… that was a long time ago and, who's to say they feel the same anymore."

"I wouldn't cut yourself so short," Bucky scolded as he sat up to accept the tray, "no harm in giving it a shot, right?" he smiled up at Steve, his mouth stuffed with egg and sausage, "You're goddamn Captain America, there probably isn't a person in their right mind that would turn you down."

Steve bowed his face away from Bucky, trying vainly to hide the blush that seemed intent on engulfing the entirety of his face.

"So, who's the lucky girl?" Bucky asked, his gaze dropping down to his plate.

"N-no one," Steve didn't want to admit that his heart sunk a little at Bucky's assumption, "it doesn't matter," Steve frowned, staring down at the nightstand, "it's not worth mentioning. They've probably forgotten about it anyway."

"You don't know unless you try," Bucky said thoughtfully through a mouthful of pancakes, "the worst they can say is no."

"No," Steve shook his head, finally gathering up the courage to look up into the face of his old friend, "The worst they can say is goodbye."

R&R