Bucky loved the library more than he ever thought he would when he was growing up. It was by nature quiet and rarely crowded, and the woman who worked the front desk was grandmotherly in the best possible ways and was one of the least threatening people on the planet. And the books themselves were fantastic; Steve preferred history or biographies, but Bucky gravitated towards the novels: he could guess well enough how depressing the twentieth century was considering his role in shaping it, and he wanted to see the beauty and hope that people had seen in it (that, and he had always loved sci-fi). Still, going out in public was exhausting, especially without Steve, but it was getting easier.
About two weeks after the tickling fiasco, Bucky had a really good day. He had woken up with Steve still in bed with him, something which he had been reminded was all too rare, and then he had walked down to the library, which he had to himself for over two hours; afterwards, he was still feeling energetic, so he stopped for lunch at a tiny little shop where he knew there was a table against the wall that provided a good line of sight for all the entry and exit points. Normally, having to go to a restaurant, decide what he wanted to eat, actually order his meal, and interact with more strangers than he normally came in contact with in a week was beyond exhausting, but this time, for some miraculous reason, he wasn’t drained. He had been eying an art store near their apartment for several weeks, but it opened later in the day and he never seemed to have the energy to go in; today, however, he had the necessary energy, and he didn’t want to waste that opportunity.
As Bucky walked up the stairs to their apartment, he was surprised at how at ease he felt. He and Steve both had expected Shield’s forcible interjection into their lives to undo weeks, if not months, of progress, but he had managed to recover in a couple of weeks. Of course, he was less than proud of his recovery process. It had largely consisted of testing Coulson’s promise to remove the surveillance and tac-team by making himself look as menacing as he possibly could without Steve noticing; this had finally come to a head the night before when he had stalked up behind Steve while he was cooking dinner, wielding one of his smaller knives. It was admittedly not one of his better plans because by the time he was within six inches of his partner, he felt sick to his stomach. He had slid the knife up his sleeve and hugged Steve from behind, staying there for as long as it took him to finish cooking. Still, bad plan or not, he was now confident that he was no longer being watched in his own home.
He set his bag down on the dining-room table and went to find Steve. It wasn’t that hard. The blond was in the kitchen, cleaning up after his lunch. Bucky leaned against the door jam, hovering just a bit. He let the feeling of contentment wash over him as he watched Steve, amazed that he could still have moments like this where he just felt good. Still, Steve didn’t seem to realize he was there, and that lack of spacial awareness made his hackles rise — all of his instincts rebelling against Steve leaving himself so vulnerable. He cleared his throat, figuring that it would be the most subtle way of cluing him in to his presence.
Steve jumped and turned around, smiling tightly when he saw Bucky. “Hey, I didn’t hear you come in. Have you eaten yet?”
“Yeah, I stopped on the way home and got something.” He answered, staying where he was and trying to figure out what was bothering his friend.
He looked surprised but didn’t mention it. “Oh, did you have a good time? You were gone longer than you usually are.”
“I, uh, I just thought I’d take my time today,” he said awkwardly, feeling as if he should apologize. He wondered if his longer than usual absence was the reason his partner was upset; he wouldn’t blame him if it was.
Steve just looked pleased, though. “That’s great; I’m glad you had a good time. You look good — happy.” Bucky felt far more relieved than the situation really warranted, but he was constantly worried that his next misstep would be the one that pushed Steve over the edge. Of course, Steve had yet to get even slightly angry with him about anything he did, but apparently his brain was having problems absorbing that.
“So how was your morning?” Bucky asked, eager, as usual, to move the conversation away from himself.
He shrugged. “Alright. You missed out on all the excitement; our washer broke, and I had to go down to the laundromat.”
“How harrowing.” He quipped heading out to the hallway where they kept the washer and dryer to take a look. “Are you sure that it’s actually broken and you haven’t just forgotten how to work it?” He could feel Steve glaring at his back, and he couldn’t help but laugh.
“Yes I’m sure,” Steve bit back, sounding more amused than annoyed. “I even read the manual and everything.”
Before Bucky could make a rude comment about his friend’s ability to read, three gunshots went off in quick succession. It only took him a moment to realize that they were too far away to be a threat and relax himself. There was a crash in the kitchen that was much more alarming and brought him running. Steve was crouched in the corner with one of their steak knives, a few dishes smashed on floor in front of him. His hands were shaking badly, and Bucky’s first priority immediately became getting him away from as many sharp objects as he possibly could.
He got down to Steve’s level, staying well out of range of his knife. “Steve, it’s okay. You’re safe here. No one’s going to hurt you. I promise.”
Steve just stared up at him, a complete lack of recognition on his face. Bucky’s heart stuttered in his chest; it was the closest he had ever come to understanding what it must have been like for Steve when Bucky had no idea who he was, and he couldn’t deny how much it hurt. He pulled himself together, focusing his energy on helping his friend.
“Hey, it’s me; it’s just Bucky. We’re safe in our apartment in New York. We’re home, and we’re safe. It’s gonna be okay. Just take deep breaths; you’re fine. I promise.”
“Bucky?” Steve asked, confusion evident in his voice.
He forced a smile, hoping that it was comforting. “Yeah buddy, it’s me; I’m right here. Do you know where we are?”
“Home.” He answered shakily.
He nodded, trying to look properly encouraging. “Yeah, we are. And we’re safe. So how about you give me that knife, pal; can you do that for me?”
Steve stared down at the knife in his hand, his eyes going almost comically wide, before dropping it like it burned him.
Bucky snagged the knife and slid it as far away as he could, settling much closer to his friend. “Thanks, that’s great. Now, do you want to get away from all this glass? Maybe we can go into the living room?”
Steve stood up, obviously taking the suggestion as an order, and started walking toward the door without paying any attention to the glass cutting up the soles of his feet.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Bucky yelled, feeling vaguely sick at the sight of Steve’s bloody footprints. “You’re going to hurt yourself, love. Let me help you.” He had used endearments like that ever since they were teenagers, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to use any since he had returned. This time, though, it slipped out unthinkingly, easy as breathing. But he didn’t have time to focus on that just then. He acted quickly, not wanting to give Steve enough time to fight him, and he lifted him into his arms. He was grateful that his increased strength allowed him to lift the 200 pound super-soldier without a problem; he was even more grateful that, for once in his life, Steve didn’t fight him.
Bucky set his friend down in the large chair they kept in the corner of the room that allowed the best view of all the entry points. He knelt in front of him and pulled Steve’s foot into his lap. He winced at the glass embedded in his skin; he fetched the first-aide kit from the kitchen, returning quickly to his partner. He worked quietly, wanting to give Steve the space he needed to recover. When he finished, he stayed where he was, not wanting to let the other out of arms reach. Steve’s eyes had cleared, and now he just looked embarrassed. It was in Steve’s nature to retreat into himself after showing what he perceived as weakness, and once upon a time, Bucky had known how to draw him out with a joke or a smile. But that time was long gone, and so he stayed silent rather than risk saying the wrong thing.
A few minutes later Steve cleared his throat, still looking distinctly ill at ease. “I think I’m going to go lay down for a bit; I’m kind of tired.” His voice was ragged, and Bucky nodded dumbly, unsure of how to convince his friend that he would be better off not being alone.
After Steve had closed his bedroom door behind him with a definitive click, Bucky went into the kitchen to clean up the broken dishes. It felt good to be able to at least fix something, but he was finished too soon and was left alone with his thoughts and nothing to do with himself other than worry. He knew that when he was in Steve’s position what he really needed was to not be alone, and he was fairly certain that as much as he liked to pretend otherwise, Steve was the same. Still, he wasn’t really sure what to do; he wasn’t anywhere near stable enough to be trusted with anyone’s more delicate emotions, let alone for some one as difficult as Steve. After debating it for almost two hours, Bucky called Sam. He hated to do it — hated that he couldn’t take care of Steve by himself anymore — but he hated the thought that Steve wouldn’t get the help he needed even more. Sam agreed to come over as soon as he heard what had happened, his voice tight and frustrated; Bucky got the uncomfortable feeling that he didn’t know everything he needed to about what was going on, but he held his tongue.
When Steve finally came out of his room — sleep rumpled and tense — he found Sam and Bucky sitting on the couch in awkward silence. He gave them a distinctly unimpressed look. He went into the kitchen and Sam followed soon after; Bucky stayed on the couch. Bucky tried hard not to listen to what the other men were saying, but after a few minutes it became impossible to avoid.
“I’m fine!” Steve yelled, slamming his hand on the counter.
Sam scoffed. “Damn it Steve, you’re not! This is the third time this week! It’s not going to just go away; you need help.”
“I’m fine.” He insisted angrily. He had the tone of voice he usually got right before he started throwing punches, and Bucky stood up, getting ready to intervene.
Sam muttered something that Bucky couldn’t really make out and then came stomping out.
He stopped and stared at Bucky. “That is the most stubborn man I have ever met. I hope you can talk some sense into him, because he sure as hell doesn’t listen to me.” He was out of the apartment before Bucky managed to formulate a response.
After a few moments he went into the kitchen, figuring that if he was going to be screamed at by Captain America, then sooner was better than later. Steve was standing with his back to the door. His shoulders were tense, and he was breathing heavily. He didn’t turn around and Bucky hesitated, unable to get past the idea that he was going to be punished. He wanted to wring his hands, but he restrained himself because that reminded him just a little too much of Steve’s ma. After a few minutes Steve breathed out a huge sigh, his shoulders slumping; he finally turned around.
“Did you really have to call Sam?” Steve asked, sounding more tired than anything else.
Bucky shrugged, not really sure what to say. He avoided eye contact out of habit, but he couldn’t stop tracking his movements. When it became clear that Bucky wasn’t going to answer him, Steve sighed again and started heading for the living room. As he passed by Bucky, he reached out to pat his friend on the arm. But all Bucky saw was the movement, and he had flinched away from it before he realized what was happening. Steve froze, examining his friend.
“Bucky?” He asked, his voice thick with an emotion that Bucky couldn’t quite identify. “Are you alright?”
Bucky nodded, still not looking up and clenching his jaw tightly to keep himself from babbling.
“I-I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Steve stammered a few awkward moments later. “I remember that I had a knife, but I don’t… I don’t remember if I did anything.”
He looked up sharply, his heart rate spiking. “What? No! Of course you didn’t. Steve…”
“Then why do you look like I’ve recently kicked you repeatedly?” He asked, beginning to sound riled up. “You’re not even looking at me, and you’re certainly not talking to me. Buck, you called Sam so that you wouldn’t have to deal with me. You tell me what that looks like.”
He shrugged again. “I’m just worried about you is all.”
“So you called Sam?” He pressed. “You couldn’t just talk to me?”
Bucky rolled his eyes. “You have never once in all the years that I’ve known you told me what was bothering you simply because I asked. I don’t know how to get you to be honest with me anymore, so I called Sam. You’re obviously way more honest with him than you are with me. Hell, Steve, you’ve been having panic attacks without telling me.”
“I didn’t want to bother you,” Steve protested. “I know that you have way more than your fair share of your own shit to deal with; you don’t need me to make you deal with mine too.”
He rolled his eyes. “Steven Grant Rogers, we have had more than our fair share of shit to deal with our entire lives, but that never stopped us from being honest with each other before. If you don’t trust me to help you anymore, then that’s fine, it really is, but don’t pretend that it’s for my own good.”
“Hey, I trust you,” Steve said quickly, that weird hurt tone in his voice that Bucky had never really known what to do with. “I do. And it’s not that I trust Sam more or that I’m telling him anything that I’m not telling you. He wouldn’t know about the last two times if he hadn’t been there when they happened; just like you wouldn’t have known about the third if you hadn’t been here.” He paused, sighing heavily. “It’s not that I’m trying to keep secrets, Buck; it’s just that this is so stupid. They’re just panic attacks; I’ll get over it, and then everything will get back to normal — or as normal as we ever get, at least. It’ll be fine. I just have to get over it.”
Bucky shook his head. “It’s not something that you can just get over; you know it doesn’t work like that. You need to let someone help you. Talk to someone — anyone. I don’t care if it’s not me or Sam or an actual therapist, but you need to talk to someone about what’s going on with you.”
“I don’t know what to say.” He answered, shaking his head. “What good is a soldier who forgets where he is when he hears gunshots three blocks away? No one cares how I feel as long as I can do my job. I’m not stupid, Buck, I’m really not; I know that I have to get myself together. I just need a little more time.”
Bucky reached out and grabbed Steve’s shoulder, his thumb brushing his neck in a gesture that felt as natural as anything ever could. “Stevie, I don’t give a shit about Captain America, and I never did; you know that. I do give a shit about Steve Rogers, though, and fuck anyone who doesn’t. You need help, Stevie, and I’m gonna take care of you. Promise.” As soon as the words left his mouth they felt like a lie. He could barely take care of himself even on his best days, let alone anyone else, but he didn’t take it back. He was fairly certain that those words had felt like a lie every single time he had said them; that had never stopped him before, and he wasn’t going to let it now. “I’m gonna take care of you.”
Steve’s expression crumpled. “Bucky, you always take care of me. It was my turn to take care of you; I’m supposed to be helping you this time. You’ve always taken care of me, and now it’s my turn to take care of you. I know I’m not doing that good of a job — I know that, I do — but I’m trying Buck. I’m trying so hard because you’ve always taken care of me and you’ve never let me down. You need me to keep it together so that I won’t let you down again. You shouldn’t have to take care of me anymore.”
“Hey, you’ve been doing a great job — you have.” He answered, stepping just a little bit closer. “But that doesn’t mean that you can’t be hurting too. That’s not how this works, babe. You have always taken really good care of me, always. It was never just me taking care of you; we take care of each other. As long as we stick together we’ll be fine, but we gotta stick together, Steve. So let me do my part, hmm?”
He nodded hesitatingly. “Yeah, okay. What do you want me to do?”
“How about we start with you telling me what’s going on?” He said with a smile. “We can go sit down on the sofa. We’ll talk for a while, and then we can order whatever you like for dinner.”
The blonde nodded again. “Yeah, okay; sounds good.” He paused, huffing out a sound that wanted to be a laugh. “Is there anything that you can’t talk me into?”
Bucky forced out a laugh that was very nearly sincere. “If there is, we haven’t found it yet. It’s all part of my charm.” Steve rolled his eyes and gave him a little shove, but he followed his friend into the living room without complaint.
They sat on the couch, but their conversation didn’t pick up again right away. Bucky waited, knowing that sometimes staying silent was the best way to get Steve to start talking. He had always been patient, it was what made him a good sniper, and he had perfected the skill trying to get Steve to tell him what was wrong.
“Did you read how long I had been defrosted before they sent me into New York to lead the Avengers or whatever they thought I was supposed to accomplish?” He asked, sounding as if he was continuing a conversation in progress rather than starting one.
He coughed awkwardly, suddenly feeling guilty for not better researching what Steve had been going through. “No, I haven’t.”
“Ten days.” He replied, sounding truly bitter in a way that he rarely did. “I was awake for then days, most of which I spent in debriefings and labs, and then they sent me in. God, it was awful — I was awful; we almost killed each other and saved Loki the trouble. I wasn’t fit for duty, Buck, I really wasn’t. I had watched you die and then crashed a plane into the Arctic, and when I woke up they told me that ‘your country needs you’ and expected that to be enough to make everything better. Hell Bucky, if you had seen me you wouldn’t have let me be in charge of anything. But all they saw was Captain America, and a good soldier doesn’t have a breakdown because of something so petty.”
Bucky shook his head and reached for his companion’s hand. “Steve, I’m so sorry. I wish that none of that had happened to you.” He forcibly cut himself off, not wanting to make this about him. He felt the all too familiar guilt roiling in his stomach at the thought that Steve had needed him and he hadn’t been there.
“After was worse, though.” He continued, practically clinging to his hand. “They moved me to DC and started sending me out on missions. I worked so hard to be okay. I made nice with my neighbors, and I didn’t just stay in my apartment all the time; I even let Natasha set me up on a few dates. I started to make it a home — I bought a couch just because I liked it. But it turns out that Shield owned my building, and my apartment was bugged, and the neighbor who I had just a little bit of a crush on turned out to be not just an agent, but also Peggy’s granddaughter (and apparently I’m the only one who thinks that that’s even slightly creepy). My boss broke in to tell me that pretty much the entire organization was dirty and then proceeded to bleed out on my couch.”
Bucky hummed, unsure of what to say around the prickling guilt about that last point. Luckily, for all that he didn’t have any idea what to say, Steve seemed to take comfort from his humming and hand holding.
“So I found this place because I knew that I needed someplace to bring you once I found you. And we were doing all right, and I love being back in New York. But then it’s all happening again, and I don’t trust that we’re not still under surveillance. I can’t live like this any more; it’s going to drive me crazy.”
He felt relieved that this was a problem that he could mostly solve. “So why don’t we go somewhere else? We can look around and find someplace that we really like — somewhere that you feel safe.”
“I don’t want to run away.” He mumbled, ducking his head bashfully.
Bucky sighed and pressed a lingering kiss to his partner’s temple. “What if it’s not running away? What if it’s more like finding higher ground? We’ve both had a rough go of it,” which was such an understatement that he almost started laughing, “and there’s nothing wrong with needing to find a secure base to regroup. You know that, Stevie.”
Steve nodded slowly. “Yeah, That sounds like it might be a good idea.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “Tony has been offering us a floor of the tower. He keeps going on about his security system and how the whole building is off Shield’s grid.”
Bucky chuckled, hoping that it came out as fond as he meant it. “It was a metaphor, Steve; I didn’t mean that we should literally move into the tallest building we could manage.”
The blonde flushed deep red, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to pull hims hand free. “Right. Nevermind. We can find someplace else.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He said, squeezing his hand. “We can go check the place out and see if you like it.”
He nodded but didn’t look any less tense. “What about you? Would you be okay living in Stark’s building?”
“I don’t really care where we live.” He answered, shrugging. “As long as I’m with you, it doesn’t really matter. You know that that’s always been true.”
Steve smiled, looking just a little lovestruck. Bucky kissed him again, this time on the cheek, and he smiled against his skin at the way Steve leaned into the touch.
“Hey,” he whispered, wanting to bring something lighter into the conversation. “I got you a present.”
“Yeah?” Steve asked, surprised and hesitantly delighted just like he always was when Bucky said those magic words.
He nodded. “Yeah. Hold on, I’ll go get it.” He pressed another kiss to his friend’s cheek, just because he could, and then went to get the art store bag from where he had left it on the kitchen table. He dropped it in Steve’s lap and settled back on the couch next to him. Steve opened the bag and drew out a box of colored pencils, one of the nicer sets the store had stocked. He held his breath and clenched his jaw to keep from babbling, more nervous than he thought something so simple should warrant.
After a beat of silence Steve broke into a wide grin. “Wow Bucky, thank you. These are great.” He leaned in to kiss his cheek, but Bucky turned his head quickly and caught his lips instead, mostly because he just wanted to, but also to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks.
\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
They moved a week and a half later. The whole process was far more stressful than Bucky thought it should be. By the time that the pair started actually packing, Steve and Tony had gotten into no less than three serious arguments, at least one of which he was sure would have ended in violence had he not intervened. Eventually, Steve and Bucky were promised that their floor would be completely autonomous, including a private elevator which they could control the security access to.
In general, Bucky was overwhelmed by the entire process. Stark was daunting to interact with at the best of times, and he was almost impossible when he was arguing with Steve. As much as he had always hated packing, it was a relief to be alone with Steve without any outside interference. It took them two days to get everything boxed up; Sam showed up on the third day with a moving van. He didn’t really say anything, but he did look impossibly smug the entire time he was helping.
They were about halfway done when Steve took a load down to the van, leaving Bucky and Sam alone in the apartment. Bucky worked on getting his own load together, but Sam interrupted before he made much progress.
“So, how’d you get him to agree to all this?” He asked, leaning against the door jam. “Because everyone has been telling him for weeks that getting out of this place was probably a good idea. How did you get him to listen to you?”
Bucky shrugged, not really wanting to talk about how he dealt with Steve; it felt too much like a secret that needed to be kept. “I just talked to him. Contrary to popular opinion, he is capable of seeing sense every now and then.”
“Seeing sense?” Sam asked incredulously. “We’re still talking about Steve Rogers, right? Because I don’t think that man has ever been sensible a day in his life.”
He just shrugged again, not saying anything. Sam just sighed and went back to work.
Later, after everything was packed into the truck, Steve took his motorcycle and set off for the tower. Bucky was going to ride over with Sam. It wasn’t that he minded, really, but traffic was going to be awful and he wasn’t sure he knew how to fill an awkward silence anymore.
Sam started the van but didn’t put it in gear. “Hey Barnes, can you do me a favor?”
“Sure.” He replied, his anxiety levels ticking up another notch.
He took a deep breath, looking tense and nervous. “Could you just stay on your side of the van and keep your hands where I can see them? No offense, but the last time you were anywhere near me while I was driving, it didn’t end so well. It’s nothing personal, and I know it wasn’t really you, but I’m feeling a bit jumpy.”
“Yeah, of course.” He answered quietly, keeping his hands clenched on his thighs and barely keeping himself from putting his hands on his head like Hydra protocol dictated in situations like this. He didn’t blame Sam in the slightest, but he had been spoiled by Steve, who never seemed to be wary around him. He stayed quiet for the entire journey, but Sam easily filled the silence, talking mostly about all the ways football had changed over the last 70 years; not that Bucky really cared — baseball had always been his and Steve’s thing.
After they had brought all of their boxes up to their new home, Sam demanded that they pay him for his help in pizza. Bucky stayed quiet for the rest of the night, even after Sam had left. Steve noticed because Steve noticed everything about Bucky, but he didn't mention it. Instead, he simply suggested that they go to bed early and start fresh in the morning. It took them longer than it probably should have to get the bed put together and find the box with the bedding, but they were in bed before it got too late.
Bucky didn't sleep. He lay awake, staring stubbornly at the ceiling. He didn't want to get up and risk waking Steve, who had always been a notoriously light sleeper, and without any suitable distractions, his thoughts turned dark. Part of him wanted to wake Steve up for the comfort he could provide, but he held himself back rather than inflict his bad mood on anyone else.
Steve woke up sometime around dawn. Bucky considered faking sleep so that he wouldn’t have to explain why he was so alert so early, but he hesitated far too long, and he was still wavering between the two choices when it became too late to fake it successfully. Steve rolled over to face him, sleepy and soft in that way that has never once failed to make Bucky’s heart skip a beat.
“You’re awake early,” Steve said, his voice as soft as his expression.
Bucky just shrugged, not wanting to outright lie, but not wanting to admit the truth either.
Steve sighed, obviously waking up quickly. “You didn’t sleep at all, did you?”
He shook his head.”I didn’t want to bother anyone.” It was true, mostly. He had known that he would have screaming nightmares had he managed to sleep. It wasn’t unusual, all considered, but it had been one thing when they had lived in a building full of strangers; it was an entirely different thing when they were living in a tower full of Steve’s friends.
The blonde hummed sympathetically. “I’ll talk to Tony about getting our floor soundproofed so we don’t have to worry about it; I’ll tell him that I don’t want him listening at our door or something.”
Bucky finally smiled, hoping that his gratitude could be sensed so that he wouldn’t have to say it. It seemed to work because Steve scooted closer, pulling him into his arms and pressing their foreheads together. Bucky let his eyes fall closed and took deep, even breaths. He didn’t fall asleep, but it was more restful than anything he had felt in days. As far as he could tell, Steve didn’t sleep either; he just lay there quietly, tracing shapes and patterns onto his skin. It was peaceful, and he blessedly lost track of time. He couldn’t even bring himself to worry, as he usually did, that he was bothering Steve or wasting his time. He was content to stay like that indefinitely, but, eventually, the peace was broken by his own stomach growling.
Steve chuckled. “Hungry? We don’t have any food up here yet, but we can go down to the common floor and get something to eat.”
Bucky agreed, not thrilled at the idea of having to interact with people so early in the morning — or at all really — but was unwilling to admit that to his friend. By the time they got off the elevator he was so tense that Steve couldn’t possibly have not noticed, but he kept quiet about it, something for which Bucky was pathetically grateful. The kitchen was already full when they got there, which didn’t help Bucky relax in the slightest. Steve hesitated as well, obviously not having expected the crowd, but he pushed forward after only a moment or two of pause.
“This isn’t quite how I planned to introduce you to everyone,” he murmured softly. “I’m sorry.”
Bucky shrugged, hoping that that would be enough of an answer; he was far from excited about meeting everyone over breakfast on his first morning in the tower, but he wasn’t going to back out of the meal just to avoid Steve’s friends.
Steve didn’t push for a more verbal response, letting them lapse into silence as they joined the others. The blonde greeted his friends, but he didn’t attempt to make any formal introductions, which allowed Bucky to relax just a bit with relief. The mood was calm and friendly, and Steve easily joined in, quietly teasing Tony when a strawberry blonde woman complained that he had cannibalized their coffee machine.
“Hey Tony,” Steve said during a lull in the conversation, his voice purposefully nonchalant as he made their coffee. “I forgot to ask you earlier, but is there some way for us to get out floor soundproofed?”
Stark’s entire face lit up like Christmas morning just with far more mischievousness. “Captain Rogers, why on earth would you ask me that? Are you finally using that beautiful bed I got you for its intended purpose? Is one of you a screamer?”
Bucky was moving before he had time to really think about it, his only thought was that he had to protect Steve. He pushed Stark up against the counter, fisting both of his hands in his shirt so that he could pull him off balance.
“What the hell are you implying?” He growled, trying to make himself as intimidating as possible. “Are you saying that Rogers and I are like that?” He couldn’t bring himself to actually say it, afraid that if he did then his voice would somehow give him away. Tony’s eyes were wide and frightened, his mouth gaping open. Bucky shook him, desperate for some kind of response. Steve’s strong hands wrapped around his wrists, holding but not pulling him away.
“It’s okay, Bucky,” he said, his voice calm and soothing in his ear. “Tony was just teasing; it’s okay.”
Bucky shook his head, breathing heavily. Steve was too trusting, too good, and it was going to get him into trouble. And maybe Stark was just kidding around, but those types of jokes never led to anything good, and he had to cut it off before it got too far.
“It’s fine, I promise.” Steve continued. “He’s not going to report us to vice; no one is. It’s not even illegal anymore.”
He froze, staring up at his partner with wide eyes. “It isn’t?”
“No, it isn’t.” He shook his head. “I should have mentioned it earlier, but I didn’t think it would come up so soon; I’m sorry.”
Bucky let Tony go, his hands shaking violently. He felt sick and shaky, and he would have already bolted his Steve’s arms weren’t still around him.
“It’s okay.” Steve reassured him. “Everything is fine. Why don’t you go back up to our apartment, and I’ll bring up breakfast? Does that sound good?”
Bucky nodded jerkily, retreating quickly as soon as he was no longer being held in place. Once he was safely back on their floor, he collapsed into a kitchen chair. He braced his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. He felt sick — all geared up for a fight that wasn’t necessary — and he was overwhelmingly disappointed. He had wanted very badly to make as good of an impression as he possibly good on Steve’s new friends, and that had gone about as poorly as it could have without anyone actually being maimed. He focused on his breathing, wanting to stay calm enough to coherently apologize to Steve when he finally got back.
He wasn’t actually sure how much time had passed before the door opened and Steve walked in. The blonde was carrying a cardboard box containing, amongst other things, a coffee maker. Bucky frowned and watched as his friend set the box on the kitchen counter. Steve drew closer, hesitant and shy in a way that most people never expected from Captain America, but had always been Steve’s reaction to Bucky being upset.
“I’m sorry.” Steve mumbled. “I should have told you about the law change, and I definitely should have warned you about Tony.”
Bucky shook his head. “I’m sorry. I should have, I didn’t…” He trailed off, unable to articulate how he had felt. “I don’t want to hurt anybody; I just wanted to keep you safe.”
“I know.” He assured him. “I know that. You were just trying to protect us, which I appreciate.” He hesitated again, and Bucky hooked his fingers into his belt loops, guiding him down onto his lap. Steve straddled his thighs and settled down with a smile. Bucky sighed, feeling tethered and contented in a way that was usually impossible for him to reach; he thought that he might have to get Steve in his lap on a more regular basis.
“Did you tell them about us?” Bucky asked, unsure of which answer he wanted to hear.
Steve shook his head. “No, I wasn’t sure if you would be okay with that. I just explained that it was illegal before and that nothing good ever came from accusations like that.”
Bucky closed his eyes and groaned. “Now they probably think that I’m an asshole who has a problem with queers.”
“I’m sure they don’t.” He answered pleasantly, tucking Bucky’s hair behind his ears. “And besides, I don’t think you’re an asshole; I think that you’re soft and cuddly. My little Bucky-Bear.”
The soldier grabbed at his partners hips and mimed pushing him onto the floor, making him giggle. “Am I ever going to live that down?”
“Never.” Steve answered happily. He leaned down but stopped just before contact.
Bucky closed the distance and met him in a kiss. He sighed happily. He didn’t think that he would ever get tired of this. Steve was soft and warm, and so, so sweet. He never pushed for more than Bucky gave, and, more than that, he always seemed completely happy with whatever Bucky gave, even when it was practically nothing at all. He slipped his hand up his shirt, pressing his palm against the small of his back, urging him even closer. Steve pressed closer, his hands in Bucky’s hair. It was beyond nice, and neither man seemed to really care to hurry to get their breakfast. Eventually their kisses slowed, and they pressed their foreheads together, just breathing.
Bucky quirked a smile. “Did Captain America steal Stark’s coffee machine?”
I appropriated Stark’s coffee machine.” He corrected primly, unable to completely hide his smirk. “I’ll give it back when we get ours unpacked, and it’s not like they were using it.”
He chuckled, pressing up for another kiss. “Ah, appropriated. How respectable.”
Steve huffed out a breath, but Bucky kissed him again before he could start arguing. They were still kissing lazily a few minutes later when they were interrupted by a loud cracking noise, which was quickly followed by the chair itself collapsing underneath them.
Steve, with his super-soldier reflexes, managed to catch them, looping his arms under his friend’s. Bucky dangled for a few seconds before he managed to get his feet underneath him. Silence stretched between them as both men stared down at the remains of their chair.
Finally, Bucky couldn’t hold it in anymore and he burst out laughing, leaning his head against Steve’s shoulder. “Oh God Steve, you broke it.”
“I broke it?” He asked, laughing as well. “Why is this my fault?”
He grinned. “Well it was perfectly fine when I was in it; you’re the one who crawled into my lap and fucked it all up. You’re like one of those Great Dane’s who thinks it’s a fucking Chihuahua.”
Steve rolled his eyes and gave him a little shove. “Shut up. Come on, let’s get breakfast; we can deal with this later.”
Bucky agreed and followed him into the kitchen, feeling surprisingly lighthearted. He was beginning to feel genuinely hopeful that everything might just turn out alright.