Bucky’s memories came back in pieces. The one memory that had come back first seemed to like living in his head and heart and made a home there amidst broken things. It was in the forties, the first time he and Steve admitted how they felt about each other, the first time they could look at each other how they really wanted to, the first time they knew why their fingers trembled when they touched, the first time they kissed. The first time something in Bucky’s life felt mind-numbingly right. He knew that Steve felt it too, all those years ago, and he knew he still felt it now. Bucky didn’t remember a lot of things, but he remembered the way Steve looked at him when he was seventeen and he saw the way Steve looked at him when he remembered something as trivial as the state of his shoes. He knew that Steve still felt the same. Why else would he fight so hard to keep him, why else would he cut off all his relationships just to keep this one? He was fighting so hard for Bucky because they were each other’s. And they had been apart for so long that Bucky would rather a bullet in the brain than lose Steve. He was the only thing keeping him there.
Bucky hadn’t said anything about remembering the two of them in love. How could he, when they hardly had any time alone, and when they had, his tongue had twisted and his chest had closed in and he hadn’t been able to get a word out. He thought Steve would know, just by looking at him, but Steve had seemed to shut the idea of it out. Bucky knew what it was like, to want something so bad that you could trick yourself into thinking it was real. He knew that’s why Steve hadn’t said anything to trigger his memory. Bucky remembered the feeling of Steve’s skin on cold nights and his breath on his neck in back alleys and the sound of his voice as he came undone, but having Steve not say a word about it made him more breathless than any of those memories. It hurt more than blows across the face, more than a bullet in the heart, more than anything Hydra had ever done to him. It hurt in the way remembering Steve’s face as he fell of the train hurt, the way that remembering Steve willing to die rather than fight him hurt. The way watching Steve try so desperately to move on hurt. It hurt the way knowing he wasn’t going to be the one to say anything hurt.
He knew Steve thought he was doing the right thing, that he might mess with Bucky’s memories if he said anything so he said nothing. But, as Bucky sat in the car with Sam and watched the way Steve looked at the blonde across him, he felt a sharp pain in his chest, his stomach in knots as he fought the urge to scream. It was better for Steve, he silently decided, if he never said a thing. Even though Steve thought he was more fragile, the truth was, Bucky’s memories when it came to Steve were clear, his feelings were still the same as they always were, as they always had been and will be. And Steve had tried so desperately to move on for so long, that maybe he finally could now, if Bucky could keep pretending like it wasn’t killing him.
He said something to Sam, it came out through his teeth and slightly less friendly than he’d have liked, but he hardly paid attention, because the second that Steve leaned in and put his mouth onto hers, was the second Bucky felt pain shoot through his head like a bullet. He knew it was selfish to want things back the way they were, and he knew that if Steve saw the blonde woman as his chance, he couldn’t say a thing otherwise, because saying that meant Steve would be back to square one, trying to build back together a broken life. A broken man. And Steve deserved so much better than broken things. So he forced a smile when Steve turned to look at him and Sam in the car, and tried not to think too hard about his heart bleeding for someone that couldn’t be his. That’s when he made the decision. If Steve didn’t get out of this alive, neither would he. If, by some miracle, he did, then Bucky knew what he’d do. How he could take the pain away but still have hope that someday, when years had passed, he’d wake to a life like before.
After it all, he knew what to do. They were safe in Wakanda for now, and even though he tried to be as happy as Steve, he knew he’d never be while he had to pretend. When he told Steve he was going back under, they’d fought the whole night until light poured through their window and they realized it was morning. Finally, with tears in his eyes and a raw throat, Steve turned away and Bucky had felt his heart tear out of his chest. He was doing the right thing. They’d arranged a cradle similar to one he’d been frozen in before, and he hadn’t looked at Steve until he spoke. He fought the urge to pull Steve in and hold him, kiss him, tell him how much he cared, tell him why he was doing this, but he just painfully smiled, and wondered if he was convincing Steve it was the right thing to do, or himself. He made sure Steve was the last thing he saw before he felt the cold. He was doing the right thing. He’d blamed it on the demons in his head, but he knew he could tackle them easily compared to seeing Steve move on and pretend he was okay because he thought Bucky was okay. He was doing the right thing. He was doing it for Steve. They’d wake him, soon enough. He would wait as long as it took for Steve. And maybe when they did, Steve would know why he had done it. Maybe he’d have realized the best chance they had at a happy life was together. Maybe he’d know that all his attempts to move on had been futile. Maybe when Bucky woke, he would be right and they’d be right for each other. Maybe staying frozen was the only way for Bucky to survive without the pain of watching Steve fall in love all over again. He watched Steve as he felt the cold bite into him, and tried to memorize the edges of his face and the curve of his lips, the colour of his eyes, for when he dreamt about him.
Maybe Bucky thought he was doing the right thing, but maybe Steve was just too stubborn to ruin what he thought was what Bucky wanted. Maybe Steve thought Bucky was happy, and maybe he thought telling him his feelings would only cause him pain. Maybe Bucky hadn’t seen the way Steve looked at him whenever he entered a room. Maybe he didn’t know that his heart never raced for her like it did for him.
Maybe Steve would’ve told him that he knew he could never love anyone half as much as he loved Bucky, if only he’d have asked. Steve would wait. Until they found a cure for the demons in Bucky’s head. Until things calmed down with the rest of the team. Until he finally realized that all Bucky had ever wanted was him. Until then.