Tripod

They purchase a Nanny Cam that looks like a digital picture frame. They fill a flash drive with photographs of the two of them, a few extras of Sam’s family, and ones that the Smithsonian digitally scanned from all their archives collected for the exhibit. They put it on a shelf in the entertainment system, replacing the framed candid photo Natasha took of them when Steve was still in the hospital. It actually has a great vantage point for the whole living room and part of the kitchen.

Steve tries not to be disappointed when there are no signs of the friendly ghost for the next three days.

When he returns home from his visit with Peggy on the fourth day, he notices the lawn has been mowed. He checks the video feed and frowns when all it contains is Tripod playing with his plush mouse all day and absolutely no sign of the ghost. On the other hand, it also includes Tripod jumping from the couch to the coffee table and tragically missing. Sam resolutely does not feel bad about laughing. He puts that clip on repeat and saves it to his phone to watch on bad days at the office.

Steve returns from his jog to see that the dishes are in the drying rack and gets disproportionately excited. He pulls the Nanny Cam from the shelf and plugs it into the computer. The software loads and Steve waits impatiently. When it finally displays, Steve skims through the video, clicking the tracker at the bottom a few minutes at a time and waiting for the buffer before it continues. It stops at Tripod napping, then Tripod puking up a hairball (Steve looks at the carpet and notices the missing hairball), then a shadow in the doorway. Steve stopps skipping forward and watches.

Steve watches as the clearly male figure walks into the house with the tiny trash can from the garage and presumably cleans litter boxes out of frame for a few minutes. There is not a clear shot when he walks down the hallway, nor when he returns the can to the garage. He goes to the kitchen to wash his hands before starting on the dishes. Steve watches, a mix of irritation and fascination and completely unable to skip ahead in case he misses something vital.

The figure turns, pulling the cloth towel from where it hangs on the handle of the oven to dry his hands before returning it and stepping through the threshold and into the living room. His face is downcast at the hairball before he turns around, likely to go get cleaning supplies, and that’s when Steve notices the something vital he’d possibly have missed had he just continued to skip through the footage.

A glint off the exposed left hand that has Steve’s heart racing in his chest even though this is the only evidence to suggest who the so-far shadowed man is.

But it’s enough that Steve has to pause the video with a shaking hand.

He takes a thready breath. Without confirmation, his reaction is silly and he tramps down the overwhelming tightening in his chest. He’s not ready to go on but the alternative is unacceptable too so he presses play, schooling himself to be stoic.

The detachment doesn’t finish settling in his bones before the pixels depict Bucky as he returns to the living room and looks up at the camera for the first time.

Bucky, it really, really is Bucky. And Steve watches as Bucky sets the cleaning supplies on the coffee table and walks closer to the picture frame, curious expression on his face. Steve’s eyes are suddenly blurry and he blinks them away, reedy breaths coming in quick bursts as his chest heaves and constricts with - he’s not sure what - relief? That sounds right. But now Bucky’s picking the picture frame up and his face is fully framed in the movie viewing software and Steve has to pause it on Bucky’s face and just take it all in.

Steve catalogues his appearance, searching for all available signs of self care. He’s shaved and his hair looks brushed. His lips are chapped, but his lips were always chapped. He looks better than Steve expected, but he also hadn’t known what to expect at all so his scale is a little biased. But he looks good. Steve positively beams at the picture before him, spending an extreme amount of time just studying the familiar wrinkles by Bucky’s eyes, and the not so familiar scars that mar his complection. He could spend all day just looking, drinking in his fill, but there’s more to the video and he has to know what’s on it.

The background jostles behind Bucky’s framed face as he walks to the Lazyboy recliner to sit and look into the camera. Steve happily smiles along with watching Bucky watch the rotating pictures of the digital frame. Steve doesn’t know what exact pictures were playing while Bucky watches, but he has a feeling some of the Smithsonian copies are what causes little bubbles of tears to spill out of Bucky’s eyes.

It’s painful to watch, but almost cathartic and Steve so wishes he could have been there to hug the tears away, no matter how sappy Bucky would accuse him of being.

Four minutes of video pass before Bucky gets out of the chair and shakily returns the frame to its place on the shelf in the entertainment center. Bucky cleans the hairball and then leaves out the garage door, only minutes before Steve steps through the front door.

Sam catches Steve rewatching the video for the eighteenth time when he returns home in the evening. Steve replays the video for Sam, who watches with a bit more objectivity than Steve ever could.

“So?” Steve asks when the software displays the Replay button at the end of the video.

Sam thinks for a suspenseful moment and Steve’s heart constricts in his chest while he waits. “So, nothing changes.”

“What the hell do you mean, nothing changes?” Steve explodes. “This changes everything!”

“You asked my opinion!” Sam accuses him.

Steve clamps his mouth shut and gestures for Sam to continue, trying to be open minded.

Sam nods appreciatively. And in a way only Sam can manage, it doesn’t sound condescending when he opens his mouth to say, “Thank you, I know how hard that was.” He takes a breath and sighs it out. “Look, he’s obviously not ready to actually say hi. If he knows you’re watching, he might not come back at all.”

“Or but what if he’s waiting for an invitation?” Steve interrupts, unable to keep it in.

Sam shrugs and shakes his head. “You know him better than I would.”

Except Sam is right and Steve just doesn’t want to admit it. So nothing changes.