Zhelaniye

When Bucky said that he wanted to be put back under, Sam took one look at Steve’s expression and dragged him out of the room.

“Breathe,” he ordered sternly.

“He can’t—” The words were clogging his throat. “He can’t—”

“Panic attack first, talk later.” Sam crouched to be at eye level and put a solid hand on Steve’s shoulder. “C’mon.”

It took Steve longer than usual to get his shaky breathing under control. The serum had fixed his asthma but couldn’t do anything against pain and grief and loss.

“I just… I don’t understand,” he finally managed to gasp out. “It’s not right, Sam.” His desperate eyes looked for Sam’s steady brown gaze. “That’s the last thing he deserves.”

“Maybe that’s for him to decide.”

“He doesn’t—”

Steve’s mouth clicked shut. Doesn’t know any better. How dared he think something like that. He screwed his eyes shut and got in another rattling lungful of air.

“You should talk it out with him, man.” Sam looked up and Steve followed his gaze. Through the glass wall, he could see that Bucky was quietly waiting in the other room, looking out the window out of decency, maybe. T’Challa and his staff had left him alone. “I think he expects you to.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. He took a last second to gather himself. “Yeah,” he repeated, and pushed himself up.

*

Bucky didn’t turn around when Steve came back into the room. He looked almost ethereal dressed like this, in only light scrubs with his feet bare. Steve realized he’d never seen him wear white. Not once since the day they’d met.

He didn’t know what to say. Where to start. Before the silence could stretch for too long, Bucky said quietly, “Walk with me?”

Steve looked at him.

“Yeah, Buck,” he murmured. “Of course.”

Bucky finally turned and smiled at him, a little, and the broken edge of that smile tore through Steve’s heart just like every time he saw it.

*

The compound’s promenade overlooked the whispering jungle—the windows stretched from floor to ceiling all along the empty corridor. Bucky walked between them and Steve, like he’d never lost the habit to shield him from harm.

“Think about it logically,” he said, blank eyes surveying the canopy. “I can’t fight. I can’t be out there. Eventually another Zemo will pop up, and more people will die.”

“I know,” Steve said with difficulty. “But you could find—”

“Somewhere quiet?” Bucky’s lips quirked a joyless smile. “That’s what I had in Romania. And look how that turned out.”

A bird cried out somewhere in the distance; Bucky's eyes jumped up, as if looking for it through the foliage.

“Besides, the whole planet is after me now. There’s no place for me to hide.”

“There is Wakanda,” Steve said, a bit too desperately. “It’s a gated country. T’Challa won’t let anyone come for you.”

“And that’s why I’m trusting him with my cryochamber,” Bucky said. He raised his hand to cut Steve off. “I know what you’re going to say. I could just live here. But what am I going to do? Just walk around and think about the past?”

Something trembled in his expression.

“It’s all or nothing, Steve. I’ve tried all. Until you find a way to make it work, I have to settle for nothing.”

Steve had fallen a few steps behind. He looked at Bucky’s strong back and shoulders and wished to God he could carry part of that load.

“But the ice,” he said.

“It’s peaceful.” Bucky had stopped in front of the window. “It’s the only form of rest I can get. I don’t sleep, you know? Not really. I survive through cat naps. There’s too much in my head to allow more.”

Steve’s sorrow was like a living creature in his chest. Every beat of his heart pulsed pain through his veins.

“I’m not afraid,” Bucky whispered. “I can’t remember the last time I was able to say that about myself. But I know I’ll be safe here. And I won’t have to worry about what happens to me when I wake up. You could come and visit anytime you like.”

“I’m not—” Steve had to fight back a sudden onslaught of tears. “I’m not gonna put my best friend in the fridge like some goddamn leftovers to be warmed up when I feel like it.”

Bucky laughed. It never ceased to amaze Steve, that he was still capable of that.

“You’re always so dramatic,” he said fondly. “This is my choice. You’re not the one locking me away.”

There was a silence.

“Aren’t you worried about losing time?” Steve said, desperate—he knew he was running out of arguments.

“Not really,” Bucky said, glancing at him. “T’Challa said he’d wake me up every three months to keep me updated on his research. Sounds reasonable to me.”

“Reasonable,” Steve repeated.

And it was horrifyingly reasonable. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“See?” Bucky said, flippant. “It’s fine. The only thing I’m kinda bummed about,” his voice faltered for a second, “is that I won’t get to see you as much anymore.”

In three steps Steve had walked to him and wrapped him tight in his arms. Bucky exhaled like a great weight had been lifted from him, and clutched hard at Steve, hand fisting into his shirt. Steve squeezed tighter, tighter, hid his face in Bucky’s hair.

“I’ll be there every time,” he gasped, “every three months, I’ll come back, I’ll be there.”

“No,” Bucky said, voice rough, still holding on too tight. “Don’t get into a pattern. That’s how people find you.”

“Fine,” Steve said, “I’ll make it random enough that no one can see through it. But I’ll be there every goddamn time.”

Bucky let out a laugh or maybe a sob. “Jesus, Rogers,” he said brokenly, “are you actually listening to me for once in your life?”

“This is your choice,” Steve said, blinking the tears out. “I hate it but it’s your choice. And you get to make all of them. Now and forever.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, just squeezed even tighter, and Steve wasn’t sure how long they stayed there, rocking on their feet, in that long quiet hallway with the fog and the jungle out the great windows.

*

Steve was pretty sure his eyes were still red when they came back into medical. Sam didn’t comment on it, didn’t say a word, just clasped Steve’s shoulder before he left.

Bucky looked at him go, and Steve realized it was part of the reason Bucky was allowing himself to sleep—because he trusted Steve to be alright in the end. He’d seen for himself that Steve had people to watch his back and fight for him. He’d let Steve catch up to him, and now he was quietly asking to be released again.

“As far as cryochambers go, the temperature will be fairly high,” T’Challa said. “You will not be frozen still. No sensations and no dreams, but enough leeway for your mind and body to mend—a hibernation of sorts.”

Bucky nodded. Steve couldn’t look up from the floor, but T’Challa seemed to understand. He stepped aside pointedly, leaving them alone.

Steve, in what was probably his most incredible feat of courage to date, looked up and met Bucky’s gaze.

Bucky was smiling at him. He understood everything. He’d always had.

“Are you sure about this?” Steve asked one last time, helpless.

“As long as I can’t trust my head, it’s better if I go back under,” Bucky said.

Steve swore to himself he wouldn’t stop till he’d found a way to undo everything Hydra had done; and Bucky must know that too, must have read his mind, because his smile grew fonder, softer. He really wanted to do this—was looking forward to it—and maybe knowing this could be enough to keep Steve’s heart from tearing in half.

In another life, Bucky would have said Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone. And Steve would have said, How could I? You’re taking all the stupid with…

He couldn’t finish the thought, couldn’t smile back no matter how much Bucky deserved it. And Bucky knew he hated this, but Steve was letting him do it anyway, and he could tell Bucky was grateful. Because Steve knew him, too, even after so long.

Steve forced himself to watch. Bucky looked peaceful. He closed his eyes without fear or tension, and when the ice came, there seemed to be no pain. Steve hadn’t even thought to ask him if it hurt.

*

Sam was waiting for him outside. “His Highness wants a word,” he said dryly. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. He took a deep breath, then looked up. Enough staring at his feet. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Three months,” Sam reminded him.

Steve nodded, unable to speak.

“Hey, when you’re done chatting with Cat-Man, come find me,” Sam said. “We’ll see if them Wakandan alcohols can get you hammered.”

It pushed a poor, sad laugh out of Steve. “I doubt it.”

“No harm in trying, man.” Sam clasped his shoulder, squeezed for a blessed second. “No harm in trying.”