Whenever you're close to me
You're like the sun
You feel like the sun
And every day you're telling me
I am the one
I am the one
Who makes you shine
- "Like the Sun" by RyanDan
"Steve?" Bucky whispered into the darkness.
"Yeah?" Steve's response was sleepy, but immediate. It had only been a few minutes since they'd turned the lights out, and neither of them had fallen asleep yet.
Bucky opened his mouth to ask the question rattling around in his head. But it was...too big. Too small. Too stupid. He let out his breath with a sigh and rolled onto his left side, away from Steve. "Never mind."
Steve clicked his tongue. "Nuh-uh, none of that." With one hand, he reached over and rolled Bucky back towards him, getting the blankets tangled up between them. "Come on, talk to me."
"Do I have to?" Bucky grumbled, tugging the blankets straight again.
"Well, we can play the guessing game if you want," Steve said, wrapping his arm around Bucky's shoulders and trapping him against his chest. "But it would be a lot easier if you'd just tell me what's on your mind."
Breathing a sigh of defeat, Bucky relaxed in Steve's arms. His right hand was trapped between them, where he could feel Steve's heartbeat gently keeping time. "It's just...it's stupid."
Steve pressed his lips to Bucky's forehead. "Say it anyway."
It's not a big deal, he tried telling himself. It's not! Why are you making it a big deal? Squeezing his eyes shut, he blurted out, "Am I doing okay?"
There was a pause that Steve filled by trailing his fingers across Bucky's back. "In...what respect?"
Bucky curled a little closer to Steve, cheeks burning in the darkness. He was glad Steve couldn't see him. "With...Jake. Am I...helping? Enough? At all? Do I still...take...take too much...?" He couldn't finish the question. The words caught in an awful tangle in his throat, and to his horror, his eyes began to burn.
It's not a big deal! he yelled at himself. It's not it's not it's not it's—
"What are you talking about?" Steve asked, gently incredulous. His hand was still moving back and forth over Bucky's shoulders and his spine, soothing the pent-up emotion rising in Bucky's chest. "You're a huge help with Jake. You understand him on a level...well, I'm not sure I ever could." There was an odd mix of pride and wistfulness in his voice. "And what do you think you're taking too much of?"
Bucky clenched his teeth and held his breath, because if he so much as thought of the response to that question...
No. Nonono, don't—
His chest seized with a shaky gasp as he desperately squeezed his eyes shut. His hand closed into a fist almost of its own accord, clutching at Steve's shirt right above his heart.
Steve's finger rubbed gently over Bucky's cheek, brushing away a tear. "What are you taking too much of, Buck?" he whispered. "My time? My love?"
Once again, his body betrayed him. He longed to deny it, but a tiny whimper escaped before he could swallow it down, acknowledging the truth.
Steve laughed. He actually laughed, a soft chuckle full of nothing but fond affection. "Bucky," he groaned, wrapping his arms around Bucky and rolling onto his back, so that Bucky lay mostly on top of him. "Bucky! What am I going to do with you?"
Bucky sniffled and scrubbed his sleeve impatiently over his eyes. He didn't know what was so funny about it...
"I love Jake with all my heart," Steve said, stroking his fingers through Bucky's hair. "But do you have any idea how much is left over for you?"
Bucky didn't know what to say, so he waited for the answer.
The answer was a kiss. Gentle and warm like a sunbeam breaking through the oppressive clouds that had surrounded him all day, burning them away like fog disappearing in the sunrise.
Of course. Steve was like the sun. A source of warmth and light, sending out beams in every direction. Bucky and Jake were like planets in orbit around him, basking in the constant, steady light. It didn't matter that now there were two planets circling him. It didn't matter how many joined them in the future. The sun gave the same amount of light to them all, undiminished and undivided.
And he didn't have to do anything to receive that light, either. Whether he was helpful or not, whether he was grateful or not, whether he reflected any of that light back or not. Steve loved him just as much no matter what.
"See?" Bucky sniffled. "Stupid. Knew it...al-already..."
Steve rubbed his back with soothing motions. "Not stupid. Just needing reassurance. And I'm happy to give you that."
Bucky hugged him as hard as he could with the arm that wasn't squashed between them. "Stevie...I-I'm not sure I can...do such a good job... I mean, I do. I love you with everything I have...even though I know...you deserve a lot more than that."
Steve's embrace was so tight it almost hurt. "I don't care. I'll take it."
Since Steve had first suggested it, Bucky had been slowly working on the language recordings for Jake. He didn't say anything about it, but Steve could tell it was occupying his thoughts. In odd moments, when Jake was out of the room and Steve was busy with something else, Bucky would start muttering into his phone. Sam had shown him how to navigate the app, but everything else was Bucky's handiwork. He came up with all the sentences, translated them into every language Hydra had been teaching Jake, and then recorded them.
Steve occasionally caught a few words or phrases that he could understand, but the main thing he noticed when he overheard Bucky was the tone of his voice. It was nothing like the cold monotone of Hydra's recordings. A soft, gentle understanding wove through every word he spoke, no matter what language it was in. Because, of course...Bucky knew. He knew exactly what Jake must have felt every night as he huddled under his thin blanket, trying to sleep while listening to an uncaring, disembodied voice talking about blood and death.
And Bucky also knew what it was like to escape that world. There was no one better suited to this task.
One night, as they were getting ready for bed, Steve brought up the subject. "How long are you thinking of making it?" he asked, tossing his clothes into the laundry basket.
"Think I'm almost done," Bucky said, pulling down the covers and sliding into bed. "I mean, I can always make more of these. But it's almost an hour long now."
"Wow, already?" Steve propped his pillow up against the headboard and sat down next to Bucky. "That didn't take long."
Bucky smiled a little, looking down at his phone. "It fills up a lot of time when you say the same thing six times."
"Thanks for doing this," Steve said. "I think it'll really help Jake a lot."
Bucky nodded. He turned his phone over in his hands several times, then looked up at Steve thoughtfully.
"What?"
"You want to say something on here?" he asked, holding up the phone.
Steve raised an eyebrow. "But I can't speak half of those languages."
Bucky shrugged. "I could teach you. Doesn't have to be anything too long or complicated."
Steve turned the idea over in his head several times. "Okay," he said slowly. "As long as you make sure I'm pronouncing it right. The whole point of this is to teach Jake, after all. But what should I say?"
He wasn't sure what the little smile playing around Bucky's mouth meant. "I've got a few ideas," he said, tapping on his phone.
The last minute or so of the recording began to play. Bucky's voice spoke slowly and clearly, repeating each word or phrase in different languages. "Father... My father... My father loves me..."
Steve's chest tightened as he heard Bucky's soft voice repeating those simple words in languages he didn't know. It didn't matter if he could understand the words or not; their truth remained the same.
Swallowing hard, Steve raised his eyes to meet Bucky's. "How..." He had to clear his throat a couple times before he could get the words out. "How do you say 'I love you' in all those languages?"
Bucky's smile widened.
"Je t'aime... Ich liebe dich... Te quiero... Wo ai ni... Ya tebya lublu..."
"Lyublyu," Bucky corrected him.
Steve frowned, looking up from his notes. "That's what I said."
"No, listen to how I'm saying it. Ya tebya lyublyu."
Steve slowly repeated the words, trying with all his might to mimic the way Bucky had said them.
"Better," Bucky said. His mouth twitched, and he quickly looked away.
Natasha walked into the kitchen, rattling off something in Russian that included the word Valentina. Bucky responded, his lips curling up in a smirk.
With a long-suffering sigh, Steve turned to look at Sam and Wanda, who were in the middle of a chess game. "Why do I get the feeling they're making fun of me?"
"Oh, they are," Wanda said with a giggle as she moved a pawn. "They're saying you won't be getting any Valentines with your accent."
Steve had forgotten that Wanda knew Russian as well, considering where she'd grown up. He was beginning to feel distinctly outnumbered. Maybe he ought to be listening to these recordings so he could learn Russian too...
"Your French accent isn't too bad, though," Natasha said, crossing over to the refrigerator to get a drink.
"Not according to Dernier," Steve chuckled.
"Who?" Wanda asked.
"Oh—one of the Howling Commandos," Steve explained. "Even though half of us knew some French, he was always complaining about our pronunciation."
"Never mind that his English pronunciation was awful," Bucky muttered with a roll of his eyes.
"You guys were a pretty diverse group, huh?" Sam commented, snagging one of Wanda's knights. "How many languages did you speak between all of you?"
"English, French, German..." Steve counted them off on his fingers.
"Morita knew Japanese," Bucky added. "And didn't Falsworth speak some Italian too?"
Steve smiled as memories of those days came flooding back. "Peggy knew a little bit of Comanche."
"What?" Sam laughed. "How'd she manage that?"
"Well, she was a code-breaker before she joined the SSR," Steve explained. "And I guess she had a friend who decoded messages in Comanche..."
"Oh, like the Navajo Code Talkers?"
Steve nodded. "Except in Germany, it was Comanche."
Bucky grinned reminiscently. "You remember that time Gabe got plastered—"
"—and bet that none of us could speak a language he couldn't translate?" Steve finished, chuckling. "The look on Gabe's face when Peggy started speaking Comanche... She acted like she was talking about something really serious, but then later she admitted she was just stringing together all the words she knew. Mostly just animals. 'Dog cat turtle rabbit...'"
Even as he chuckled over the memory, a wave of sadness filled Steve's heart. He tried to listen to the story Sam started to tell of Riley's ill-fated attempts to speak Arabic with the locals in Afghanistan. But it was hard to focus when his whole mind was filled with nothing but how much he missed his old friends.
Especially Peggy. His gaze strayed to the paper on which he'd written down how to say I love you in six different languages. He'd never said those words in any language to Peggy. Not that she didn't know how he felt...but still.
Maybe he should finally say them. Not that it would change anything. Not that she would remember that he'd said it after he'd hung up the phone. But it was almost Valentine's Day. Seemed appropriate.
Steve looked up when he felt something nudging against his foot. Bucky caught his eye and looked a question at him. You okay?
Pushing those wistful thoughts to the back of his mind where they belonged, Steve nodded and smiled slightly. Surreptitiously, he tapped the paper where he'd written ya tebya lyublyu and pointed at Bucky.
Bucky rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as they both returned their attention to Sam's story.
"Okay, bro," Sam said. "Get some sleep. Lemme know how that interview goes, yeah?"
"Yeah." There was the sound of a sigh on the other end of the line. Sam imagined Gideon breathing out a long stream of smoke and flicking the butt of his cigarette into a snowbank.
There was an awkward pause, as if both of them were waiting to say something. Words they probably needed to say more than anything, but somehow they were so hard to get out. Too many years of tension and silence had elapsed between them. Too many years of not saying those three words. Even though they'd been talking somewhat regularly for several months now, and each conversation was easier than the one before...even though they'd seen each other face-to-face at Christmas and given each other an awkward hug...
They were better, but maybe they weren't quite there yet.
Clearing his throat, Sam fell back on something easier to say, since it was how he ended practically every conversation with Gideon these days. "Say hi to Ma for me."
"Yep. Night, Sammy."
"Night."
Sam hung up, then dropped his phone on his chest and let out a long, slow sigh of relief. It probably shouldn't be this hard to talk to one's own brother, right? But they'd had nothing in common for so long, it was hard to pick up those threads again.
We're doing better, he reminded himself, focusing on the positive. He went to rehab. He says the AA meetings are helping. No big blow-ups around the holidays. He actually tells me things now...even if Ma is probably the one who nags him to call me half the time. And if he gets this job, that'll give him something to do. Something to work towards.
Maybe this would be when Gideon finally turned his life around for good. There had been plenty of times Sam had gotten his hopes up before, only to watch Gideon fall down the same holes he always did. But this time would be different. Sam chose to believe that.
Sam picked up his phone again, checking the time before setting it down on his bedside table. He sat up, stretching and yawning. It was 1:30 in the morning, and he was tired, but his mind was still fully awake.
Warm milk was supposed to put you to sleep, right? He could go for some of that right now. Maybe he could even 'borrow' some of Bucky's hot chocolate stash...
The living quarters were quiet at this time of night; Steve's little family turned in early, and everyone else seemed to have retired to their rooms as well. But there was a light on in the kitchen—just one, shining a warm circle of light on the sitting area. Steve sat in one of the chairs, frowning over a tablet in his hands. He was so intent on what he was doing that he didn't seem to notice Sam stepping through the doorway, so Sam tiptoed behind his chair to see what he was looking at.
Whatever he'd expected to see, it wasn't a page full of expensive rings. Steve scrolled past rings of every description. Sterling silver, cobalt, stainless steel, titanium, tungsten. Beveled, smooth, etched, wired, engraved, traditional, domed. Black, grey, silver, rose gold, blue. Some had diamonds or other precious stones embedded in them, others were just a plain band.
"You know," Sam said, relishing the way Steve started and nearly dropped the tablet, "if you're shopping for a wedding ring, shouldn't you have at least gone on a date with the lady since 1945?"
"Sam," Steve hissed, glaring over his shoulder at him. "You tryin' to give me a heart attack?"
"You say that like it's possible." Sam winked, plopping down on the nearest couch.
"Yeah, yeah..." Steve groused, rubbing his eyes. "And no, I'm not trying to look for a wedding ring. Haven't even talked to Peggy in..." He thought for a moment. "Too long. Much less anyone new. It's just that what I'm looking for only shows up on these...wedding ring websites."
He sighed loudly, his cheeks tinged pink, and Sam chuckled at him. Steve was just too easy to tease. This wasn't the first or the last time Sam would catch him doing something awkward or suspicious. And he blushed real easy too, for someone confident and self-assured enough to walk around practically wearing the American flag.
"So what are you doing, then?" Sam asked, propping his chin on his hand.
"Aside from regretting this decision?" Steve muttered. He angled the tablet so Sam could see the web page. "Trying to pick out a ring for Bucky. His birthday isn't for a few weeks, but I wanted to be sure I could get it in time."
"A ring, huh?" Sam took the tablet, tapping on the shopping cart to see the ones Steve had been looking at more closely. "Have a goal in mind?"
"Beyond finding something supersoldier-durable that will allow engraving? Not much. I can't decide what style or color I like."
"You're at least on the right track for the first part of that." Sam tapped on one of the pictures, bringing up a dual-colored tungsten carbide ring with an inlaid rope twist. "Unless you want to go with a ring made completely of diamond—or vibranium, even—tungsten will stand the best chance of surviving supersoldier shenanigans."
Steve nodded in agreement, taking back the tablet. Tungsten was four times harder than titanium and virtually scratch-proof. If something hit it strong enough to break it...well, Bucky would have bigger problems to worry about, because his hand would probably be broken too.
"That's the easy part," Steve sighed moodily. "But look at all the options. How do I pick?"
Sam smirked knowingly at him. "You're getting distracted by all the pretty colors, aren't you?"
Steve's eyes hit the ceiling. "Yeah? So?"
"So, you think Bucky will like or even want color?"
Steve fell silent, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Finally, he said, "No. Not likely. He'd enjoy looking at one, but for himself? He'd lean toward plain."
Sam nodded. That sounded about right: something unobtrusive, something that wouldn't draw much attention. "Were you thinking of any designs?"
"Not at first, but once I saw all the options..." Steve sighed again, running a hand through his hair. "Thought it would be good to at least consider them."
"Looks like you considered them, and they don't measure up." Sam grinned and nudged Steve's leg with his foot. "Want my advice? Drop Plan X and go back to Plan A."
Steve kicked him back and chuckled quietly to himself. "Okay. Hang on..."
Sam watched quietly as Steve scrolled back through the options, muttering softly to himself. He looked at three descriptions, then tapped on one to customize it. What he ended up with was a heavy, two-toned black and gunmetal brushed tungsten ring. After selecting the size, Steve spent a minute selecting an engraving font, then wrote a short message to be laser-etched on the inside.
To the end of the line.
He frowned, erased it, thought for a moment, started writing something else, then erased that too. He half-started several phrases with similar sentiments, muttering in dissatisfaction to himself.
Relax, Sam wanted to say to him. Any one of those is perfect. Even if you wrote something dumb like Bro, let's be bros forever, he wouldn't care. Heck, no message at all would be fine. You're giving your buddy a freaking ring. That's an amazing promise already.
"What do you think?" Steve finally turned the tablet towards Sam, still looking unsure. "Will he like it?"
Sam looked back at him incredulously. "Dude, if you don't grab your wallet right now—"
"Okay, okay!" Steve waved him off with a laugh. "I'm doing it!"
Sam watched with a grin as Steve completed his purchase. Funny. He and Gideon were blood brothers, yet they struggled to say I love you even once. And here was Steve, unabashedly giving Bucky a declaration of love that he would remember every time he looked at his own hand.
Those two were really something, weren't they?
Steve stared down at the phone in his hands. He had the contact saved in his phone, the number pulled up on the screen. He sat alone at the foot of the bed, his privacy assured by the closed door and Bucky's promise to keep Jake occupied outside with Sam for at least an hour.
Why was he so reluctant to call Peggy? It had been ages since they'd talked—not since sometime around Christmas. Bucky telling Tony about his parents had completely driven it from his mind, and then all of their time had been eaten up with rescuing Jake. So it had been almost two months since he'd talked to her.
But then...the last time he'd called her, it hadn't been much of a conversation. Most of the time, she hadn't known who he was. The rest of the time, she'd thought he was her husband. They couldn't reminisce over old times. He couldn't even ask her if she'd had a good day, because she didn't remember what she'd done or said five minutes ago.
Part of him—a large part—still regretted neglecting her for so long. The last time he'd seen her in person was shortly before they'd brought S.H.I.E.L.D. down. Then they'd had to go into hiding with Winter, so of course there was no chance of popping in for a visit. He'd been afraid to call her, too, not wanting to blow their cover. He'd put it off until they'd moved in with Sam, but by then it was too late. Peggy had already been taken back to England to live out the rest of her days.
Maybe it would be easier if he could just look into her eyes and see the same woman he used to know, behind all the wrinkles and white hair. Maybe the sight of his face would break through the fog of dementia.
But he had no choice. Right now, all he could do was call her. And even if he had to explain who he was every five minutes and she repeated herself over and over again, he still wanted to hear her voice. Old and confused she might be, but she was still Peggy.
Drawing a deep breath, Steve tapped the number on his phone and held it to his ear. It took a few moments for the long-distance call to start ringing, but it only rang twice before someone picked up.
"St. Christopher's Hospice, this is Emilia. How may I help you?"
Steve thought he recognized the young woman's voice, though he'd never seen her. "Hi," he said, his palms suddenly feeling sweaty. "This is Steve Rogers; I was hoping I could talk to Peggy Carter."
"Mr. Rogers, of course!" He could already hear the apology in her voice. "I'm so sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but...that's not possible."
Steve glanced at the clock. He'd calculated the time difference correctly, hadn't he? It was the middle of the afternoon there...
His stomach suddenly dropped to his toes. She wasn't... "Y-You mean..."
"I'm afraid Ms. Carter recently took a turn for the worse," Emilia said gently. "She's stopped talking, almost completely. We might get a 'yes' or 'no' from her on a good day, but..."
"No conversation."
"No. I'm very sorry, Mr. Rogers."
His brain couldn't seem to decide between relief and disappointment. She was still alive, but... He swallowed hard. "How...How long...does she have?"
"It's hard to say," Emilia said softly. "But she is growing weaker. It won't be long."
For several drawn-out, throbbing heartbeats, Steve couldn't breathe. Finally, he managed to choke out, "Thank you. For telling me. Would...Would you let me know...if...?"
"Certainly, Mr. Rogers," Emilia said, voice laden with sympathy. "We have your number on file. We'll let you know if there are any developments."
"Thanks," was all Steve could manage before he hung up.
He sat staring at his phone again, his chest feeling like a hollow crater. It wasn't like this was a surprise. Peggy had been declining for ages. He'd known from the first time he tracked her down after waking up from the ice that one day...one day soon...he would have to say goodbye. Again. This time, he would be the one left behind.
Drawing a ragged breath, Steve sent Bucky a hasty text. I need you.
The phone slipped from his fingers and landed on the carpet between his feet. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and stared at it.
This shouldn't be so hard, he told himself. Why is it so hard? She's old. She's lived a full life. She moved on. I can too. I have moved on. It's not like I...we were never...
His thoughts were fraying, unintelligible even to himself. Somewhere in the tangle of all these threads, a very tangible hand touched his shoulder. He looked up and saw Bucky sitting on the bed next to him, looking worried. He was breathing hard, as if he'd run the whole way.
"Stevie?"
Sinking into Bucky's arms, Steve let the grief wash over him. "She's alive," he mumbled into Bucky's shoulder as his eyes burned. "But...she might as well...be dead already. I can't..." His voice broke, so he continued in a whisper, "Can't get her back."
Bucky had also known Peggy all those years ago. He knew how important she was. He knew what she'd meant to Steve. So Steve could hear the sincerity in every syllable as Bucky sighed heavily and said, "I know...I know..."
Steve sniffled and settled deeper into Bucky's arms. He knew it would only get worse later. Someday—all too soon—he would have to say goodbye for good.
The tiny shred of comfort he clung to was that he would have Bucky at his side when that happened.
Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth.
- 1 John 3:18