Healing is a slow process. Bucky knew it would be, but that doesn't mean it's any less frustrating. He's been in the future with Steve for almost a year and a half and he still doesn't have all of his memories, he still gets nightmares almost every night, he still hates himself. The entire world could tell him what the Winter Soldier did wasn't his fault and he still wouldn't believe it. Steve means well, and he's grateful he has his best friend, but Steve just doesn't understand.
At least he remembers her. Whenever his mind fixates on the bad memories - the cryochamber, the chair, blood, pain, screaming that could be his victims' or his own - he does his best to follow his therapist's advice and focus on nice memories instead. He remembers her brilliant smile, her soft skin, the way her hair smelled when it was freshly washed. He can't remember what her voice or her laugh sounded like or why she chose him, but the memories he does have of her are enough.
The first time Bucky remembered her, he'd been at the mall with Steve a few months after Steve brought him home as a part of Steve's attempts to get him used to the future and being a person instead of the Soldier. They passed some perfume store, and he caught a whiff of roses and apples, and suddenly he was twenty-two years old again, following a girl with beautiful flowing hair and a radiant smile, who was looking at him with so much love in her eyes it was like he hung the moon. The memory hit him so hard he stopped walking, the smoothie Steve bought him slipping out of his hand, and afterwards Steve had to lead him to a bench so he could sit down and catch his breath. She wasn't the first girl he'd remembered, technically - here and there he'd remember snatches of a girl he was dancing with, or a girl he sat behind in class - but she felt different somehow. Special. And when he asked Steve about her, Steve told him her name, and that she was their best friend, and the woman he was going to marry. Until, of course, he was drafted into the war and fell off the train and turned into the Soldier. He didn't stop shaking for hours after that.
After the first memory, more came slowly. They were a welcome respite from the memories of various people he murdered as the Soldier, yet somehow they left him with a pain in his chest that was even worse than the guilt. He had a fiancée. There was a girl whom he loved and who loved him in return, a girl he left behind, both when he was sent overseas and when he woke up in the future.
Of course, the first thing he did, after listening to Steve's story in numb silence, was ask what happened to her. If she was still alive, if she recovered from the devastating loss of her fiancé and married someone else, if she got to be happy after all. And Steve, after a hesitation that was so brief Bucky told himself it must've been in his head, said that when he looked for her after he woke up, he found out she'd passed away a few years prior after living a long and happy life, though she never married. So there was that, at least.
Bucky takes comfort in the fact that she existed, and that she loved him. Because Steve told him that she loved him, more than anything in the world, and the way she looks at him in the memories he does have is indicative of someone who loved him. He forgot it was even possible for anyone besides Steve to love him. If a girl like her loved him, maybe he's not so bad after all.
So anyway. His healthy coping mechanism is her, apparently, and his therapist was quite proud when he told her. He's found that if he thinks of her while he tries to fall asleep, he doesn't get as many nightmares.
Bucky has had a nice evening. He and Steve went out for dinner at this pasta place they've been meaning to try, and it was better than both of them expected. Then, once they got home, they watched the new episode of one of those shitty dating reality tv shows that are both of their guilty pleasures, and Steve got so mad at something one of the men did he threw popcorn at the screen and Bucky laughed so hard tears came to his eyes. As he gets ready for bed, he's feeling good. Calm. He's not thinking about the sounds a person makes as they're dying, for once.
He slides under his covers with a sigh of contentment. He will always be appreciative of modern-day mattresses and blankets because they are infinitely more comfortable than they were before. Their cat Alpine jumps onto the bed and curls up on his chest, purring, and he clicks the light off with a smile on his lips.
+++
The night is cold. The city lights are bright. The Asset slinks through the streets, sticking to the shadows. Despite the hour, people are everywhere, getting in the Asset's way. There is a couple across the street, the man's arm around the woman, and she is laughing at something the man said. There is music coming from somewhere. The Asset sees all of this with empty eyes. The Asset has a job to do.
The Asset is in an apartment building, taking the steps quietly and carefully. This is where the Asset's target is. The Asset skips the third step from the top because the Asset instinctively knows that step creaks, but the Asset does not remember that part of the handler's instructions.
The door reads 309. The Asset grips the handle and shoves with the metal arm, and the door opens.
"Who's there?" It's a woman's voice. She sounds scared. The Asset watches in the shadows, flesh hand holding the gun, waiting.
The woman creeps out of a room down the hall, holding a bat. Her hair is disheveled from sleep. When she sees the Asset, she stops, the bat slipping from her hands, eyes widening. "Bucky?"
The Asset steps forward, gun pointed between the woman's eyes, and the joy that's dawning on the woman's face quickly morphs to terror. "Bucky? What- What are you doing? Bucky, please, I love-"
Bucky jerks awake, the gunshot echoing in his head. Alpine gives a yowl of protest and leaps onto the floor, but Bucky hardly even notices. He's shaking, his heart racing like a hummingbird trapped in a cage, and when he tries to get out of bed the sheets stick to his skin from sweat. He stumbles into the bathroom, collapses by the toilet, and throws up.
"Buck?" The light clicks on, and Bucky would normally wince at the sudden light, but he's too busy gripping the toilet seat like his life depends on it. "Are you okay?"
Steve's hand rests on Bucky's back, but Bucky shoves it off. He can't look at him. "You lied." His voice is weak and hoarse and pathetic.
"What?" Steve sounds concerned. Bucky feels Steve sink to sit on the floor behind him, and he doesn't need to look at him to know the way those blue eyes are scanning him with worry.
"You lied," he repeats, a little louder. He stares straight ahead, his knuckles turning white.
"I lied? What do you mean?"
"She didn't die of old age. Did she?" Bucky finally turns to Steve, glaring at him.
At first Steve stares back, bewildered, until the realization dawns on him. Bucky watches as that confusion morphs to sheepish guilt. "Buck..."
"She was murdered. You said she died of old age, but she was murdered. I murdered her. Didn't I?" Bucky forces himself to meet Steve's eyes, to watch them fill with tears.
"Buck... Hydra murdered her," Steve says weakly, but Bucky clenches his jaw and digs his nails into his palm and breathes through the pain in his chest.
"Tell me. Now."
Steve looks at him for a moment, eyes glistening with tears, before he takes in a deep breath and lets it out shakily. "I looked her up. After I woke up," he starts, soft and weak and defeated. "I looked everyone up, hoping someone was still around. I needed a familiar face." He sighs, swallows, reaches up to wipe away a tear as it falls. "The news article said... the apartment was broken into in the middle of the night. She went out to investigate, and... she was shot. Right between the eyes."
Bucky feels sick again, but he forces himself to listen. He bites the inside of his lip so hard he draws blood.
"They called it an armed robbery, but nothing was taken," Steve continues lowly, heavy with grief, "and they never found who did it. At the time, I didn't... I didn't think anything of it. The murder, I mean. I just-... I added her to the list of people I was mourning and moved on. But then when Natasha told me about the Soldier... it didn't take me long to figure it out."
"I murdered her," Bucky repeats hollowly. It's hard to breathe around the lump in his throat. "I murdered my own fiancée."
"Buck... Hydra murdered her," Steve says weakly, reaching out to take Bucky's hand, but he pulls it away. "It wasn't your f-"
"I murdered her, Steve!" Bucky snaps, so loud it echoes through the bathroom, and Steve flinches. "She's dead because I fucking murdered her! And she- she didn't kn-ow what was happening, she thought- she thought I'd come back to her, but I fucking-" He can't go on. His vision blurs, his eyes burn, and before he knows it he's sobbing into Steve's chest, clutching his bicep like his life depends on it.
Steve holds him while he cries, tears of his own slowly falling down his cheeks. He doesn't know how much time passes, but it doesn't matter anyway. He knew he'd spend the rest of his life mourning her, mourning what they could've had, but he took comfort in the fact that she got to live, that she got to grow old and be happy, even after he was gone. How is he supposed to live with himself knowing that was a lie? How is he supposed to live with himself knowing she saw his face in her final moments, and instead of feeling joy and love, she felt fear? How is he supposed to live with himself knowing he looked in the eyes of the woman he loved most in the world and fucking killed her without a second thought?
She's not much of a healthy coping mechanism after that. Anytime he thinks about her, the pain in his chest is so intense it takes his breath away, and he feels so heavy with grief. It's like all of his progress from the months of therapy is erased. If it weren't for Steve, he probably would put a gun to his head and blow his brains out just to make the pain stop. It'd be fitting for him to die the way he murdered so many others, including his own fiancée.
He doesn't, though. He can't leave Steve behind after Steve worked so hard to get him back. And, in a way, he feels as though he doesn't deserve to die because dying is too easy. This endless agony is a fitting punishment for everything he's done.
Time goes by in a haze. He has good days and he has bad days, though the latter are much more frequent. He takes care of his cat and goes to therapy and boxes in the gym until his knuckles bleed and tries not to jump off their balcony. He wouldn't say he's living, he's barely surviving, but, you know. He's breathing.
When Steve and the others need help with a huge threat, some purple guy named Thanos, Bucky admittedly throws himself into it against his therapist's advice. He'd do anything to distract himself from the endless pain, and it's nice to feel useful for once. To feel like what he's doing is having a positive impact on the world. Even when the Avengers lose and half the population vanishes, the fight doesn't end - he helps keep Steve together, taking care of Steve like Steve has taken care of him for so long, and they do their best to help the world recover.
Five years later, Tony, Bruce, and Scott figure out how to travel back in time to steal the infinity stones before Thanos can and reverse the Blitz, and then, as promised, the team plans to take the stones back. Steve, however, has an extra Pym particle, and he gets an idea. Once his infinity stone is safely where it belongs, he enacts it before anyone can tell him not to, in typical Steve fashion.
It's late in Brooklyn. The apartment building is familiar, yet foreign at the same time - Steve has been in the future for a long time. Still, his feet instinctively know the way to apartment 309, and he pushes his way inside.
"Who's there?" Your voice comes from the bedroom, sounding scared and confused and just like he remembers. He suddenly realizes he has no idea what he's going to say, but then you creep out of the bedroom, gripping a baseball bat like you're prepared to use it.
Steve holds his hands out in an attempt to show he means no harm. "Hey, it's okay. It's me," he says, as soothingly as he can, and you stop in your tracks, the bat falling to the floor with a thud.
"Steve?"
"Yes, it's me. You have to come with me," he urges, holding out his hand, but you stare at him with wide eyes.
"How- How are you here? What is going on? I thought-"
"There's no time!" Steve glances at his watch and sucks in a breath. The Winter Soldier will arrive in minutes. "I'll explain everything soon, I promise. But you have to come with me."
You stare at him, gaze flickering between his outstretched hand, the shield strapped to his back, and his white and red suit, the "A" on his shoulder. He can see the indecision, the confusion and the fear, and he takes a step towards you. "Please. Trust me," he urges softly, reaching for you.
You hesitate for a beat longer, swallowing hard, before you nod. "Okay."
Relief washes over him. Without another word, he takes your hand and twists the lid of the Pym particle container.
Before you know it, you and Steve are standing on a platform in the middle of a large room, like a warehouse except with windows. You look around, blinking in the bright light, the confusion very quickly morphing to panic. This is not your apartment building in Brooklyn. There are people on the ground, including a giant green man, who at first look just as bewildered but then start to look upset. "Rogers, who the hell is this?" a man in the same suit as Steve demands, taking a few steps forward, but Steve holds his hand out placatingly.
"Tony, please don't freak out."
"I think it's a bit late for that," says a man in the suit with a bow strung over his back.
You're hardly listening, too busy trying to figure out what the hell is going on, but then your eyes land on another man with hair down to his shoulders and a metal arm and suddenly nothing else matters to you. "Bucky!" you cry, and you fly down the ramp, across the room, and leap into his arms.
Bucky is so stunned he can't move for a second, but then his arms slowly wrap around your waist and his nose buries in your hair and the familiar scent of roses and apples makes tears form in his eyes. "Baby," he whispers hoarsely, grip tightening on you, warm tears beginning to leak out of his eyes. Distantly, he hears Steve arguing with the others, defending his decision, but he doesn't care to listen. You are here, you are alive, you are in his arms again. Nothing else matters anymore.
"You're alive," you sob into his shoulder, holding onto him as tightly as you can. You don't recognize the clothes he's wearing, he looks older and more tired than you remember, and you're so confused and afraid, but at least he's here. "I thought- They t-told me you were d-dead, the- the letter said you f-fell, I th-thought-"
"I know. I know." Bucky's knees feel weak, so he slowly sinks to sit on the floor, holding you in his lap. "But I'm here. I'm alive."
You pull back enough to meet his eyes, smiling through the tears. You cup his cheeks, brushing his tears away, and he nuzzles into the touch, tears flowing faster. "I missed you so much," you say, voice thick with tears. "Your hair... It's so long."
He laughs weakly and nods, reaching up to lace his fingers with yours. "I can cut it if you don't like it."
"No, I do. I always think you're handsome." Your eyes run all over his face, drinking in the sight of him, as though you're afraid he'll disappear if you look away. Bucky can't breathe around the lump in his throat. You're looking at him just like you used to.
"I missed you too," he whispers, so soft it's barely audible. That's probably the understatement of the century.
He can't bring himself to move for a long time, so the two of you remain on the floor, wrapped in each other's arms. Your body is just as soft and warm as he remembers, and you fit perfectly in his arms. He never wants to let you go.
Some time later - Bucky has no idea how much - he hears footsteps, and he looks up to see Steve returning, belatedly realizing the others have probably long since left. When their eyes meet, Steve offers him a small smile. "Hi."
You shift in Bucky's arms at the sound of Steve's voice, and you melt into a smile immediately. "Steve. Hi." Before Bucky can panic and grab you back, you're leaving his arms to stand and meet Steve in the middle, giving him a hug. "Thank you."
Steve softens and hugs you back. "For what?"
"For bringing me to Bucky, of course." You pull away, so Bucky returns to your side, wrapping his metal arm around your waist in what he hopes is not an I-will-have-a-panic-attack-if-I'm-not-touching-you way. You lean into him instinctively, wiping away the last of the tears on your cheeks.
"Of course. You don't have to thank me," Steve assures you, his eyes sliding to Bucky. Bucky knows he should thank him too, but he can't speak, so he just meets Steve's eyes and hopes he understands. "It wasn't a problem."
"Are you sure? Those people sounded pretty upset earlier..."
"Don't worry about it." Steve waves a hand dismissively. "What's done is done, they'll get over it."
You nod and set your hand on top of Bucky's on your hip, the metal of your engagement ring clinking against the metal of his arm, which apparently reminds you of the strangeness of the situation. "As happy as I am to be back with you, Bucky, can I please ask what is going on?" you ask, turning to meet his eyes. "What happened to your arm? Where are we, and how did we get here? Who were those people? And Steve, how did you triple in size? And how are either of you alive?"
Steve and Bucky share glances, and then Steve sighs. "I spent that whole time trying to figure out how to respond to this, and I still don't know what to say," he says with a sheepish laugh. "I think... I think we better sit down."
Steve takes you and Bucky to one of the meeting rooms and gives you both some water, but you don't drink it. You hold Bucky's metal hand with both your own, playing with the fingers, marveling at how they move. You're starting to get a bit of a headache and they haven't even started talking yet. They're quiet for a moment, communicating silently through nothing but looks as they've always done, and for once you're not indignant at being left out.
And so, they explain. Bucky tells you in a low voice about Dr. Erskine's serum that turned Steve into a super soldier, the 107th's capture, Dr. Zola's experiments that turned Bucky into a super soldier, Captain America's daring rescue, the Howling Commandos, the fall that took out Bucky's arm, the Valkyrie's crash, Steve waking up seventy years in the future, the Avengers, Steve finding Bucky, Thanos, the infinity stones, time travel. He skirts awkwardly around how he got into the future, stumbling through some half-truth about surviving the fall because of his serum and being a special operative for SHIELD, not wanting to tell you about Hydra and the brainwashing and what would've happened if you hadn't taken Steve's hand, and you're too stunned by the rest of it to notice the flimsiness.
When Bucky finishes talking, the three of you sit in silence for a bit as you do your best to process. "So... you're alive because you never really died," you say, staring at a spot on the table, struggling to wrap your brain around this. "And you never died because of this... serum... those doctors put in you. And this serum gives you... super strength? Super speed?"
"Yes to super strength, no to super speed," Steve answers. "It prevents me from getting sick and heals me faster. Bucky's is like mine, but not as strong."
"And your arm. You lost it in the fall, and now you have this metal one." You're still holding Bucky's metal hand as you search his face. "Can you feel anything?"
"Sort of. I can feel pressure, and warmth, but not touch, really," Bucky explains, watching you with wary eyes. He's bracing himself for you to panic and leave, to tell him you want nothing to do with him, now that you know what he's become. He wonders how long it'll take you to realize he is not the man you fell in love with. "It's still very advanced for a prosthetic. And, who knows, Tony might figure out how to make one that works just like my regular arm one day."
"Tony. Tony Stark, right?" Your gaze flickers between the two of them. "Is he... related to Howard Stark?"
Steve nods. "Tony is Howard's son."
You nod slowly, staring at that spot on the table again. "Right. So... we just live in the future now?"
Bucky nods and squeezes your hand. "Yes. You'll live with us, if you want. I think you'll like the future."
You look up at him and you smile that same radiant smile he saw in his memories so much even through the tears forming in your eyes. "I like anywhere where I get to be with you," you say, and then Bucky's crying again too.
+++
Steve and Bucky take you home to the brownstone they moved into a few years after the snap. On the way out of the large building which Bucky tells you is the Avengers compound, you can't help but notice the people who were in the warehouse area upon your arrival, watching you from the various rooms they're in. There is the man you identify as Tony Stark - now that you know, he really does resemble Howard Stark - there is a woman with red hair and dark eyes, there is a woman with hair that is red on the top and blonde on the ends, there is the giant green man, there is the man with the bow on his back. Some of them seem merely curious, and others seem like your presence offends them. "Bucky, your friends don't like me," you tell him quietly, subconsciously tightening your grip on his hand.
Bucky sighs and returns Tony's glare over your head, letting go of your hand to instead drape his arm over your shoulders. "They will," he says, quietly yet firmly. "They're just... worried. About repercussions. But everything will be okay, as soon as they get to know you they'll love you."
You're unsure if you believe him. You look up at him to see him nod reassuringly, and then you look to Steve, who offers you a small smile, so you just nod and hope he's right.
The drive to the brownstone reveals more lights and flashing signs than you've ever seen. You are overwhelmed with how big everything is - your fiancé and your best friend tripled in size and so did everything else. Even the brownstone, which is beautiful, is way bigger than the apartment you lived in with Steve and Bucky - it's way bigger than any place you've ever lived.
You follow them inside, and a fluffy white cat immediately comes up to you, weaving between your legs. "Who's this?" you ask with a smile, bending to let her smell your hand.
"That's Alpine. She's our cat." Bucky watches you stroke Alpine's fur, swallowing the lump forming in his throat. His heart is so full, it feels like it'll burst.
"She's adorable." You scratch behind Alpine's ears for a bit before you straighten, and Bucky shows you to your room.
Bucky has been depressed for the last seven years, and his room certainly reflects it. It's messy and dark and even a little musty, and shame crawls up Bucky's throat - when you look to him, concern in your eyes, he avoids your gaze. "I, uh, I'll clean up," he says gruffly, but you just squeeze his hand and help him get to work.
It was the middle of the night when Steve barged into your apartment, and of course you've had quite the intense experience since, but you manage to stay awake until it's a normal time to go to bed. Bucky can't take his eyes off you all day, and he can't take his hands off you either, always holding your hand or wrapping his arm around you or resting his hand on your thigh. He can't believe you're here. He feels like you could disappear at any moment. What did he do to deserve this?
That night, you get ready for bed - Bucky finds an old t-shirt of his for you to wear, and it's so big on you it's more like a dress - and slide under the covers. "Oh, my gosh, this bed is so nice," you say, in awe, smoothing your hand over the comforter. "This must've cost a fortune."
"It wasn't too bad, I don't think." Bucky takes off his metal arm, and he hesitates, fingering the hem of his shirt. "Is it okay if I take this off?"
You smile up at him, petting Alpine, who jumped up to join you, though it's a confused smile. "Of course it's okay. I've seen it all before."
Heat coats Bucky's cheeks and he nods jerkily as he tugs his shirt off, tossing it to the side. His torso has gained a lot more scars and muscle since the last time you saw it, and he worries, perhaps ridiculously, that you won't like it. Your opinion on his body won't matter when you realize what a monster he is now - if anything is going to end your relationship, it's not going to be his body.
He searches in his drawers for his sweatpants, and you take the opportunity to scan his torso, smile fading. Of course you still find him attractive, it's just... he's been hurt a lot, and the evidence is all over his skin. You don't like the thought of him hurt. You wish you could take all his pain away.
Once he's ready for bed, he climbs in beside you and pulls you to his chest. Alpine stalks to the end of the bed with a glare at the interruption. You laugh, and he smiles slightly too as he lays down, tucking you under his chin. "Goodnight," you murmur, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. "I love you. I'm so glad I get to be with you again."
Tears brim in his eyes at the sound of those words, but he blinks them away. "I love you too, sweetheart. Goodnight."
It's not long after that that he feels you fall asleep, but he stays awake, holding you close, running his fingers through your hair, savoring your presence. He can't sleep, much too afraid you'll disappear when he wakes up and he'll find out it was all a dream. Instead, he scoots down to rest his head on your shoulder, tucking his face in your neck and sliding his hand up your shirt to feel your warm skin. It's probably for the best that he doesn't sleep anyway, he doesn't want to wake you up with a nightmare. He doesn't want you to know how fucked up he is yet. He doesn't want to lose you so soon after getting you back.
+++
It's been a few days. You and Bucky have pretty much been holed up in the brownstone the whole time, wrapped up in each other. It's been three years for you, nearly eighty for Bucky, you have to make up for lost time. You are adjusting remarkably well to being in the future, a hell of a lot better than Bucky did, but you've always been so much better at everything.
Steve is out, helping the Avengers work things out after reversing the snap, and Bucky is grateful to him for taking care of things so he can savor his time with you. The two of you are in his room, cuddling on the bed, while he shows you one of the tv shows he and Steve like, though he is too busy watching you to pay much attention to the show. "There are so many more ads now," you say with a sigh as yet another commercial break starts, resting your head on Bucky's shoulder.
"I know. It's very annoying." Bucky reaches up to run his fingers through your hair, marveling at how it always smells like roses and apples. He's not wearing his metal arm since you're just lounging around the house, but he wishes he were so he could hold your hand.
"How do you stand it? They've played this same ad for those chips three times now."
Instead of answering, Bucky cups your cheek and tilts your head up to meet your eyes, tracing your jaw with his thumb. You smile at him automatically, though you're confused. "Can I kiss you?" he asks softly, and the smile brightens.
"Of course," you murmur, so he admires you for a moment longer before connecting your lips.
It's not the first time you've kissed since you were reunited. You've exchanged a few pecks here and there after you kissed him on instinct after waking up, and each one makes your heart flutter just like it used to. This one, however, is longer, deeper, as though he's afraid it'll be the last. You kiss him back, snaking your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in the fabric of his shirt. It's been so long, and you missed him so much. You thought you'd never see him again.
Heat catches in your blood, and you clamber into his lap so you're straddling him as the kiss deepens. His hand smooths down your body to rest on your hip, shoving your shirt up a bit to feel your warm skin. You run your hands over his chest, feeling his new muscles, relearning what his body feels like.
It has been a long time since Bucky has done anything sexual. Of course, he hasn't with anyone else since before he went overseas, but even alone, he just hasn't had the desire. He's been much too focused on other things, like adjusting to the future and saving the world and not killing himself. But your skin is so warm, and you smell so good, and your thighs are so soft against his, and he loves you more than anything in the world. So though he is a little surprised when he feels his cock hardening, purely since it's been so long, it's only natural. You are the only woman he's ever wanted.
You smile into the kiss when you feel it, unable to help it, and he pulls away, embarrassed. "Sorry. Just- Just give it a second, it'll go away."
"You don't have to be sorry." You give him another kiss, finding the bulge in his sweatpants and squeezing.
"Fuck, sweetheart," he says with a groan, turning his head to catch his breath. "It's- It's not going to go away if you do that."
"I know, silly." You pull back enough to smile at him. "Do you want me to suck you off?"
He flushes. "You don't- You don't have to do that..."
"I want to, Bucky. Promise." You set your hands on his waist and lean in to kiss him again, briefly. "Do you want me to?"
Bucky swallows and nods jerkily, so you smile and clamber off his lap, giving him the opportunity to scoot towards the end of the bed. You sink to your knees on the floor between his legs, rubbing his thighs, unable to help yourself. You love the feel of him, you love the reminder that he's real and solid and alive. "Please forgive me if I'm a little out of practice," you murmur, offering him a small smile.
"You're perfect," he tells you, and then you're pulling his cock out of his sweatpants and he sucks in a breath, biting his lip hard.
You stroke him until he's fully hard - is he even bigger than you remember? - and take him into your mouth. He can't tear his eyes away. He smooths your hair out of your face, and you look up at him, meeting his eyes.
"God, you're so beautiful." He's breathing heavily, heart racing. He feels a little lightheaded. "I missed you so much."
You hum, and he groans at the vibrations. You tilt your head back and he slides deeper.
"I love you. I missed you so much." His voice breaks, and suddenly he's blinking rapidly in an attempt to keep back the tears. He doesn't want to cry, but then you pull back enough to smile at him and tell him you love him too and suddenly the dam breaks. Tears start to flow down his cheeks, and he bites his lip to hold back sobs, turning his head to the side to try and hide it from you. His cheeks burn with shame. He feels sick with guilt.
Of course, his efforts to hide it are unsuccessful. The moment you realize he's crying, you pull back, looking up at him worriedly. "Bucky?"
"I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm sorry," he says, but he certainly doesn't sound fine. You straighten and take a seat beside him on the bed, reaching up to rub his back.
"What's wrong? Why are you crying?" you ask gently, and he chokes out a sob.
"I just- I missed you so much, I th-thought I'd never see you again." He grips the comforter to hide how he shakes, twisting his fingers in the fabric. "It was so h-hard, trying to live without you."
You soften and run your fingers through his hair, bringing it away from his face. "It was hard for me too," you tell him softly. "I missed you a lot."
Bucky sobs and wipes at the tears, but it's fruitless - they keep coming. "Do you know why Steve chose that moment to come?" he blurts out, before he can stop himself. "Do you know what would've happened if he'd been just a few minutes later?"
You frown, confused. "I would've just kept sleeping. It was two in the morning, Buck."
He pauses, chest heaving, too scared to say what he was going to say. "I lied to you, sweetheart," he says instead, too scared to look at you. He's too scared to do a lot of things, he's realizing.
"What do you mean?" You're still achingly gentle, your fingers still massage his spine, and he knows he should pull away, he should leave, he should save you from himself before it's too late. But he is nothing if not selfish.
"When I fell from that train, I was found by Hydra, not SHIELD." His voice is heavy with shame, his grip on the comforter so tight his knuckles are white. "They were the bad guys, essentially. And they- they erased my memories and turned me into a weapon, their weapon. I wasn't a special operative for SHIELD, I was an assassin. The Winter Soldier." He swallows hard, catching his breath, staring determinedly at a spot on the floor so he doesn't have to look at you. "They froze me in a cryochamber when they weren't using me, and that is how I got into the future with Steve. I killed... I killed so many people for them, baby. But my first- my first assignment-" His voice falters, and he squeezes his eyes shut, gathering his courage. You need to know. "If Steve hadn't come..." he starts, voice shaking, soft and weak and pathetic. "If Steve hadn't come, I would have. They- They needed to get rid of any liabilities, any... any attachments, anything that might've jeopardized their hold on me. I would have come, and you would've come out to investigate, and I would've k-.... I would've-..."
He can't go on. His muscles are tensed, as though he's bracing himself for a slap, and he's gripping the sheets like his life depends on it. He wants to fall on his knees before you and beg you to forgive him, to stay, because he can't do it without you, but he can't move.
You're quiet for a scarily long time. He's too scared to look at you, but he feels your fingers still tracing patterns in his back. "You didn't know who you were, Bucky," you murmur eventually, soft and careful. "It wasn't your fault."
That rips another sob from his throat. "How can you say that? I murdered you, baby, you should- you should be scared, you should be angry. Steve had to save you from me."
"You didn't know who you were," you repeat, still soft, but firm too. "You said they took your memories and made you into a weapon, so that person who killed me... It wasn't you. I know you would never hurt me."
"How can you be so sure?" Bucky asks miserably.
"Because you're good. You're a good man, Bucky." You tilt his head towards you, brushing away his tears with your thumb. "That's why I fell in love with you in the first place. I'm so, so sorry you went through that, but nothing the Winter Soldier did was your fault. You are a good man. I trust you with my life."
Bucky breaks. He grabs onto you, buries his face in your shoulder, and sobs. You wrap your arms around him and run your fingers through his hair, kissing his forehead. "I love you so much," you murmur. "I'm so sorry you went through that, I'm so sorry you were hurt so much, but I'm here now, I'm safe, and I love you more than anything in the world, nothing will change that."
He cries for a long time, and he can't bear to let you go. He's so overwhelmed, he's so grateful for you, and yet he's so sick with guilt. He doesn't deserve this. "I'm so sorry," he sobs, gripping onto your shirt like his life depends on it. "I'm so sorry, baby, I love you so much, I should die for what I did to you-"
"Shh, shh, it's okay. It wasn't your fault," you murmur soothingly, rocking him like a baby. "You didn't do anything to me, Bucky. I'm here now, I got you. I'm safe. I love you."
He cries until he can't anymore. Even once the sobs have quieted, he keeps his face in your neck for a few more moments, struggling to pull himself together, before he pulls back and meets your eyes. "I'm sorry."
"You have nothing to apologize for," you tell him softly with a small, reassuring smile, brushing away the last of his tears with your thumb. "I love you."
He does his best to return the smile, reaching up to take your hand on his cheek and lace his fingers with yours. "I love you too," he whispers, nothing but a hoarse croak.
"I know things have been hard," you murmur, playing with his fingers, "but I'm here now, and I want to help. Everything will be okay."
He looks at you, and he sees nothing but that same love and care in your eyes that he's always seen, and he loves you so much he could burst. For the first time in a long time, he believes that. "Yeah," he murmurs eventually, and when he kisses you, he hopes you can taste his gratitude.