Chapter 13: Full Disclosure

For a few days, Steve sees nothing of Bucky. Per Tony, Bucky still hasn't "gotten his head out of his ass," and is thus not welcome at the bar. Steve has to admit, it takes the stress out of drawing at the venue when he doesn't have to keep catching glimpses of Bucky hitting on other people out of the corner of his eye. At the same time, he's unable to stop himself from wondering if Bucky is taking care of himself.

On the fourth day, the karmic pendulum must realize it's supposed to swing the other way, because Bucky is suddenly everywhere.

Steve's out walking? What a coincidence, Bucky's trying a new running route that makes them cross paths. Steve's running errands? How odd, Bucky's checking out at the same stores. Steve's just trying to sit at his table in Tony's Workshop? Bucky's talking with Scott or Nat or, multiple times, filling in for various bands' drummers. Steve half-expects to wake up and see Bucky tapping at his window, giving him a heart attack like he did when Steve was home sick from school that one day in the fifth grade.

"He put his name in as a freelancer for any acts playing this week," Clint says when Steve brings up Bucky's renewed presence at the venue. "Shocker, I know, but people were quick to take him up on it after his last performance. Tony can't exactly ban the guy without inconveniencing a lot of bands and making people ask questions."

Steve eyes Bucky while Bucky eyes the drum kit this particular band has got him using. "He's everywhere, Clint. I feel like I'm losing my mind."

"I think you lost your mind a while ago." Clint pours some ice into his shaker. "What exactly happened between you two?"

It's a conversation Steve's already had with Sam, but of course Sam's too good of a person to spread it around. Steve braces himself to repeat it. "Remember how he stopped talking to me when I was fifteen?"

"Yeah."

"That whole time, he never bothered to read anything I sent him. Not a single thing. No texts, no letters, nothing." Clint isn't getting it, so Steve sets his jaw and spells it out. "He asked me how my mom is."

"Oh. Oh, shit."

"Yeah."

"Okay, well, if he's decided to stick to you like gum on a shoe…maybe he's trying to apologize?"

"By stalking me?"

"Maybe he's trying to find the right time. You did block his number."

That had been a spur-of-the-moment decision the moment he had his hands free after that awful conversation. He didn't want to hear any apologies, not then. He'd been one more word from punching Bucky in his stupid, ignorant, oblivious mouth. "Maybe I don't want to hear what he has to say."

Clint pauses very deliberately between shakes before continuing. "Maybe that too."

Steve stews for a moment, sneaking another look at Bucky while he does. Bucky's at the other end of the bar telling some kind of story to Natasha, who laughs—laughs!—in response. Something ugly shoots through Steve's chest.

"It's not like I like being mad at him," he grumbles.

"You had years of that already."

"Yeah. I was just—him being back, it was like finally seeing a hole filled I didn't even know was there."

"It sounds like maybe you do want to hear what he has to say." Clint raises his empty palm in surrender when Steve glowers at him. "Hey, your choice, man. I'm just saying what I'm seeing."

Clint, Steve thinks, could stand to see a little less. Steve would love to see a little less of Bucky, a thought he can't help thinking later on when he runs into Bucky at the grocery store for the third time in as many days.

"You sure come here a lot," Bucky notes when they end up in the checkout line together.

So do you all of a sudden, bites Steve silently. Aloud, he says, "These aren't for me."

"You're right, they're too healthy."

Steve purses his lips. He's gotta get rid of Bucky; this is getting ridiculous. "Well," he says after paying and grabbing his bags, "I gotta take these groceries to Winnie." Bucky is unphased. "Your mom." Bucky's still unphased. Steve sighs and starts walking. Naturally—after paying for his single container of store-bought cupcakes from the bakery—Bucky follows.

Setting his jaw, Steve refuses to acknowledge him. If Bucky wants to see his parents, that's his business. It's what Steve wanted him to do days ago, but late is better than never. Steve's just not sure he has it in him to handle playing third wheel to a big reunion. Besides, he's got somewhere to be soon, so he can't hang around.

Maybe he can leave the groceries at the door.

As Steve had hoped—feared—Bucky sticks with him all the way to his old family home. Before Steve can even think of adjusting his groceries to ring the doorbell or just leave the bag on the front stoop, Bucky's striding up the stairs and pressing the button. Then, as though thinking twice, he goes for the door and finds it open.

"Ma, it's me!" he calls as he opens it. "Steve brought your groceries! I got you those cupcakes you were talking about, too."

Winnie comes out from the living room with a big smile. She wraps Bucky in a hug, mindful of his cupcakes, and then takes the sweets off his hands. "Thank you, dear. Your father is going to be sorry he missed those, he just went into the office for some meeting. Steven, come in, come in! It's cold outside, you'll catch a chill."

After collecting his jaw from the floor, Steve musters what little composure he has left, closes the front door, and follows the Barneses into the kitchen. Inside, though, his mind is whirling. Bucky talked to his mom? His dad? When? Why?

He tunes in just in time to catch Bucky saying he'll catch up with his dad when he comes by for dinner, if that's okay, which sets Steve spinning again. Bucky's got regular dinner plans now?

Winnie is absolutely beaming. "More than okay, and I plan to have cracked their cupcake recipe by then. Steven, do you want to join us?"

"I, uh, I have plans," he stammers. He doesn't, at least not at dinner time. Right after this he's heading out to help Sam move a friend's couch, but dinner? Nothing. Sam is going out with that friend and other buddies of his and Tony is once again enjoying Pepper's company. The only thing on Steve's docket is reheating some leftovers and, if he's feeling particularly adventurous, working on commissions.

"That's a shame," Winnie says.

"Yeah," Bucky agrees, eyeing Steve in a way that makes it clear he doesn't buy an ounce of Steve's bullshit. "I'm sure Steve can swing by some other time."

"Well, how about brunch this Sunday?"

"Is that a thing you do?"

"Oh yes, every week, schedules permitting."

"I'd love to join."

Steve's protest lodges somewhere in his throat and stays there for the entire time it takes Bucky to get invited to that tradition. Once again, Steve finds himself grappling with a feeling that it's good Bucky's doing these things but it's…it's not bad, but it's something, that Bucky's so quickly inserting himself into all these spaces. And to do it when the last thing he asked Steve was how's your mom—it just leaves him with a sour taste in his mouth.

"You'll join this Sunday, right?"

Steve blinks and focuses on Winnie. "I'm not sure, Tony mentioned maybe needing help with a project that morning. You know how he can get with his work." Another lie. It might not be third-wheeling a reunion, but Steve's not enthused at the prospect of sharing a meal with a guy who ignored him for a decade.

"Well, let me know." Winnie has taken one of the cupcakes out of the packaging, cut it in half, and is now poking through its corpse with a fork and knife. "Bucky, where did you put the chocolate chips?"

"Oh, the pantry, did you want those out? I'll grab 'em."

Steve finishes putting groceries away on autopilot, which works fine except for the fact his autopilot isn't used to Bucky being there. The longer he spends marveling at the whole scene, the less he understands. All of a week ago, Bucky had bristled at the mere request to see his family. Now he's popping by with cupcakes and promises of more visits later.

It boggles the mind.

"You good, pal?" Bucky asks, passing the chocolate chips to his mom. "You look like you're in space."

"I'm fine," Steve says automatically. "I—I have somewhere to be, actually." And for once, that isn't a lie.

"Don't let me keep you, dear. And thank you, as always, for going out of your way."

"It's no trouble, really. Bye, Winnie."

"Goodbye."

For a moment, Steve thinks he's gotten rid of Bucky. But halfway down the block, Bucky catches up and falls into step just behind Steve. Steve hides a sigh. Surely Bucky won't follow him all the way across town, right?

With the way Bucky's all but breathing down his neck, it's obvious when Bucky stops. Steve glances back, wondering if something's wrong, suspecting he's about to hear Bucky curse and say he left something in his mom's place, at which point he can easily justify leaving Bucky behind. Instead, he finds Bucky looking straight at him with enough intensity that Steve stops in his tracks.

"Steve, there's something I gotta say. I owe you an apology."

Steve's mouth goes dry. His first thought is, we're doing this here? His second thought is, we're doing this now?

And his final thought is, a little shamefully, I'm going to miss the train.

"Buck, I don't think now's the time. Can this wait?"

Bucky's eyes pinch. "Seriously?"

"I'm gonna miss the train."

Genuine hurt flashes across Bucky's face before his expression closes off. "Yeah, okay. Sure."

Feeling like an ass and entirely unsure what to do with himself, Steve lets Bucky pass him on the sidewalk and starts trailing after him. Is this why Bucky's been following him all over the place? Working up the nerve to apologize?

And the moment he did, Steve brushed him off. With each square of concrete passing under his feet, watching Bucky lead the way, he feels worse and worse until he can't take it anymore.

Hey, he texts Sam. Gonna be late.

Don't sweat it, Sam fires back immediately. Nat warned me you might get held up

Steve pockets both that tidbit to ask about later and his phone. "Buck," he calls. "Hey, stop for a sec."

"Thought you were gonna be late," Bucky says without slowing. Steve hustles to catch up and grabs his shoulder, bringing him to a halt.

"I am, and that's fine. You had something important to say and I shouldn't have brushed you off like that. Say what you need to say."

Bucky searches his face a moment and, apparently satisfied, nods minutely. His throat bobs when he swallows, and when he speaks, he pitches his voice low so it won't carry all the way to anyone on the block.

"Like I said, I need to apologize to you. I fucked up, talking about your mom like that." Seeing Steve bristle, he raises his hands. "Please, let me finish. The second you said she was dead, I wanted to fall back on the excuse that I didn't know. I wanted the excuse of not knowing so bad. Yeah, I didn't know, but that's not good enough. I didn't know because I chose not to. You gave me every opportunity you could and I ignored all of them. That was the worst thing I could've done to you, and I did it over and over again for years even when I could've, should've, reached out. The second I got back here, the second I saw you again, I should've looked through every letter I had. I didn't." His eyes are growing shiny with unshed tears and there's a sympathetic burn growing in the back of Steve's throat even through the residual anger trying to drown it.

"There's no excuse," Bucky continues. "I hurt you in a way no one else could when you were going through hell. I was an awful friend—an awful person. There's no going back and making that right. I just want to say right now that I'm sorry. If you're willing to let me back into your life, I promise it won't happen again. I'll do better, be better. I'll be with you to the end of the line." He swallows thickly and offers, "And if you aren't, that's your choice and I'll respect it."

Liar, Steve thinks. The brittle glass behind Bucky's eyes is liable to shatter if a rejection gets tossed his way. But even if that happened, Bucky's the type to suck it up and walk away as promised.

Bucky's not done, though. He was just collecting himself. "I know I said there's no excuse, so this isn't that. I just think you deserve to know what happened when I dropped off the map."

Confused, Steve follows him down a narrow alley and around the corner behind the building. It's a secluded spot, and watching Bucky unzip his jacket and shrug it off, gloves too, Steve's brain goes somewhere near the gutter. Underneath, Bucky's only wearing a tank top. A tank top that shows his left arm, and the breath leaves Steve in a quiet gasp as he realizes the real reason why Bucky wanted privacy.

It's not a prosthetic hand. It's a prosthetic arm. All the way up through his shoulder and even into part of his chest, with scar tissue radiating out from the seam of metal and flesh.

Bucky swallows. He's got a white-knuckled grip on his coat. "When I was sixteen, I was in a car accident. I don't remember much of it, but I lost my arm. I was in a coma for weeks and even after I woke up, it took months for me to recover. My body was fucked up, my memory was fucked up—everything was fucked up. Even when I was getting better, I didn't want anyone to know what had happened to me, that I was…less." He flexes his arm, the silver plates catching the fluorescent lights. "Things happened, obviously. By then it just felt…I was scared. It was easier to throw myself into music." He bites his lip. "Hydra's music."

Steve processes the red star on the shoulder for the first time. It's true. Tony was right. Tony was right.

"I was the Winter Soldier," Bucky admits like it hurts. "And I know that makes it worse, because I was here, I had money and everything. I could've, if I just, if I'd just—" he cuts himself off and takes a deep breath while he pulls his coat back on. "I'm sorry, Steve. I really don't have an excuse."

Stunned speechless and feeling untethered like he hasn't since he rode the Cyclone, maybe even since he first started Dr. Erskine's program, Steve can't find the words he knows he should say. Bucky's waiting, Bucky's waiting for him, and Steve—

Steve's leaning on the wall next to him just to stay on his feet because his legs suddenly aren't feeling so steady anymore. Every time he goes to speak, the words pile up in his throat and get stuck.

Bucky nods. "That's all I wanted to say. Good seeing you again, Steve."

"Buck—" Steve stops himself, realizing he's got nothing else behind it. His best friend is the Winter Soldier. His best friend lost his whole arm in a car accident. His best friend—

He still thinks of him as his best friend.

"Are you working tomorrow?" he asks instead, and after a confused beat Bucky shakes his head.

"That's my last day of probation, so no."

"Come to my place," he blurts before he can think better of it. "Sam and Tony are out in the afternoon. We can," he has no idea what they're gonna do, but god, his mouth is still moving, "we can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids."

For a second, the only look on Bucky's face is one of complete and total disbelief. Then a smile splits his lips and just keeps going, fueled by goofy hope that lights up his eyes too, and Steve's going to be using the mental image of that expression as an art reference probably forever.