Chapter 2
Steve woke up to the light filtering through his apartment window and groaned, closing his eyes immediately after with a groan. He’d gotten very little sleep that night, and now had commissions to do for a mural at the local VA. The VA. The Veterans Agency. He knew exactly who to ask about that later. He groaned and heaved himself off of the bed, making his way over to his kitchen so he could get himself some coffee to ease the exhaustion still clinging to him.
He didn’t bother to turn on the light and wound up accidentally stumbling onto the couch, but made it into the kitchen to start brewing the coffee. He was tired enough that he just stood there and watched it brew instead of making himself something to eat. He paused, he has an art show today. Immediately he pauses everything he is doing and scrambles to gather his art and supplies. Halfway through, an idea hits him like a brick. He scribbles down a brief note on a sticky note he’d scrounged up. “Art show at 5 pm at the gallery on Hutchins St, come if you want - Steve :)” He makes sure to put the sticky note where he will remember it so he can put it on Bucky’s door before he leaves.
Steve gets through the morning in a whirlwind. He showers, eats, guzzles some coffee, and tries to find something nice to wear. Eventually, he settles on a creme turtle neck, some black pants, brown shoes, and his dark brown leather jacket. He even bothers to adjust his collar and comb his hair because hey, maybe Bucky will come! He makes sure everything is handled even though the show is not for a few more hours. He takes the time to sit at his kitchen table, an old leather-bound sketchbook in front of him. He won’t be able to draw later because of the show so might as well do it now. As he draws he finds himself wondering what Bucky was like while he was enlisted and as such finds himself drawing him. The side profile of his face with a sharp jaw and perfect nose. His eyes belong to that of warriors, dark and foreboding but somehow exhausted and weary at the same time. He thinks back briefly to his mom. She had always told him war was a fool's game for young boys to die for the grievances of old men. He wonders if Bucky would’ve agreed with her. Maybe if he comes to the gallery he’ll ask.
Before he knows it, it’s time to start getting ready for the showing. He grabs his sketchbook and a bunch of his art pieces. The goal is to hopefully get recognized by other artists and maybe show his art at some other galleries. After all, he’s got a tall ladder to climb and he isn’t exactly big. He throws a few of his smaller works into a backpack he’s decided to bring with him, a bit of a skip in his step because there always is when he has an art show to go to.
As he slings the backpack over his shoulder and locks up his apartment, quadruple-checking that he has his keys in his pocket, he takes the sticky note that he scribbled for Bucky. He quickly hops up the creaky old steps and sticks it on the door, hoping that Bucky will see it when he comes home from work. He knows he’s there because his truck is gone from the driveway, but when did he start checking? He doesn’t dwell on it as he descends the stairs and bolts out the door.
–
Work sucks sometimes, and that has become a fact that Bucky has learned to deal with. The pace is slow and boring compared to the army which was either slow as molasses or so fast you didn't have time to blink. And he couldn't even disassemble or clean a weapon to pass the time. What he did learn, however, was that the metal arm was very useful for the job. He'd been trying to loosen a bolt that was putting up an honorable fight, only for Bucky to get annoyed and punch it with the metal arm. The bolt had loosened enough for him to take it out. He felt proud of that for the rest of the day.
His body ached dully as he hauled himself into the apartment complex and he went to fumble with his hand to get his keys out of his pocket when he spotted something yellow on the door. He read the note, smiling softly as he pulled it off and held the sticky note in his flesh and blood hand. Feeling like it was oddly delicate, he stuck the note in his pocket. 5 pm, it was five fifteen now, so he would be a little late but it was better than not showing up at all, right? He stepped into the apartment and decided to clean up.
Bucky showered and grabbed his service dog, Alpine. She was a white-furred German shepherd with blue eyes. He was dressed in a simple outfit, some blue jeans and a brown fur-lined sweatshirt. He hoped he didn’t look too sloppy in his clothes for Steve, but he always felt a little pale in comparison to Steve, the artist who dressed like an old-school professor and held himself like he was on top of the world. He left with Alpine in her service dog vest and loaded her up into his truck, driving off to the location that Steve had written on the sticky note.
When he got there, there were a lot of people. Bucky felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle but Alpine nudged his hand as if to silently tell him they’d be okay. The gallery allowed service dogs and Bucky felt himself let out a soft sigh of relief. The gallery was bright and vibrant with color and light that he would normally find overwhelming, but with the right artist's touch seemed homely and comforting. He walked past a few booths, occasionally glancing at some of the products that the artists were selling and stopping at the one manned by a scrappy, short, blonde-haired punk.
“Hey Steve,” Bucky greeted as he stopped in front of the table where there were small prints, mugs, and various other trinkets with designs on them with the larger canvas pieces on the wall behind him. The smile that Steve beamed him when he saw Bucky was lethal.
“Buck!” He exclaimed.” “I’m so glad you came.”
“Yeah, me too. I would’ve come sooner but you know, work.”
–
Steve hummed and nodded his head, trying to inconspicuously glance at Alpine and failing miserably.
“I didn’t know you had a service dog.” He stated, his words careful like he was worried about being insensitive.
“Yeah, this is Alpine,” Bucky replied. “Part of a program for veterans when I came home. A friend made me do it.”
Steve nodded, feeling something thick build in the back of his throat. For a moment he wasn’t sure what to say and he didn’t want to seem annoying.
“I like your art,” Bucky said, saving him from the awkward moment and Steve swore he felt himself fall even more in love with this beautiful man. “I knew you were good, but wow.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Steve said, and he meant it.
“Say, what’s that piece?” The other man asked, gesturing to one of the large paintings on the back wall.
The painting was greyscale with maroon undertones. The face of a woman took up most of the canvas, but her features were distorted like Steve had run his fingers down it to smudge the details. Steve found himself struggling to speak again, like honey had been poured down his throat like when he’d take a spoonful to help his throat after asthma attacks.
“Uhm, I made it after my ‘Ma died,” Steve explained, gesturing with his gnarled and charcoal-stained hands as he tried to explain himself. Bucky immediately held up his own hand and stopped him.
“I’m sorry to hear about that, you could’ve told me to shut up if you didn’t want to talk about it.” And Steve knew by the warrior look in his eyes that he was telling the truth. “It just reminded me of some stuff is all.”
Steve nodded slowly, thrown off guard. He shifted his gaze to Alpine, who was sitting daintily in front of Bucky’s legs and glancing between them like an enamored child watching their parents fight.
“I’m glad you like it.” Steve finally found the words that felt right to say in response. When Steve looked back up, Bucky had a small smile on his face as he looked at the painting. There was a story there, and something under Steve’s skin itched to know what it was. But he would wait until Bucky was ready.
“After all, what’s that quote?” Bucky continued. “Art is meant to disturb the comforted and comfort the disturbed?”
–
Bucky finds himself thankful for that save as Steve’s face lights up like a Christmas tree.
“To be honest,” Bucky begins. “I don’t know much about art. Never had a good eye for it.” He admitted and it’s true, he always had a better time with logistics rather than symbolism and creativity.
“That’s alright, I was never any good at math or science, anything with numbers.” Steve offers up, flashing that cocky smile.
“Funny, my job required a lot of math.”
“What, the military?”
Bucky nods. “Sniper.”
“They say that details make an artist, I’m guessing a lot of details go into being a sniper.”
“Yes,” Bucky agrees with a nod and he can feel himself resisting the urge to geek out about firearms. “Wind, angle, bullet trajectory, weather, weight, height, elevation…”
“So you're an artist, just in your own way.”
Bucky pauses and he has to pick his jaw up off the floor. Trying to remain tactful, he clears his throat. “I don’t think there’s anything artistic about using a bullet to spill someone's brain matter from their skull.”
“You’ve never heard of Tom Lea, have you?” Steve asks and Bucky shakes his head. “Look him up when you get the chance, maybe you’ll reconsider.”
“‘Dunno, maybe,” Bucky says with a small smile, taking a moment to pet Alpine and silently asking for her support in marrying this amazing and oddly philosophical young man.
“Say, I get out of here in about an hour, want to get some food together?” Steve asks suddenly.
“Sure, but I don’t like to eat out,” Bucky warns because this is more than enough people for the day and he’s being so brave by doing this for Steve.
“Alright, I’ll grab some takeout on my way back.” Steve decides and Bucky wonders what ring size he wears. “My apartment is a mess right now, can we eat at yours?”
And who is Bucky to resist that smile?
“Yeah, of course.”
–
Steve feels his heart hammer in his chest as Bucky and Alpine leave to head home and he immediately feels a flood of joy hit him. He’s going to have dinner with a super hot ex-soldier, and he has a dog! The last hour snail crawls by and the second that it does he forgets about the whole purpose of the art gallery being to see his art shoves everything back into his bag and leaves the paintings up in their semi-permanent location. He realizes that he never asked Bucky what type of takeout he wanted and settles on the fact it's a good excuse to get the guy's phone number next time. He settles on pizza because it’s easy and who doesn’t like pizza?
When he gets back to the house he chucks his bag onto his couch, checks his hair, and scrambles up the rickety steps to Bucky’s apartment, knocking on the door. “It’s Steve!” He calls because this guy is a combat veteran and Steve can guess he probably doesn’t trust knocks on the door much.
The door opens and Bucky still looks beautiful and Steve has to take a moment to remember how to breathe as he holds the pizza box. He winds up forgetting how to speak and instead holds up the pizza box and smiles as if trying to explain. Bucky steps aside and gestures for Steve to come in. The apartment is the same as the others in the complex, plain and old. Steve is surprised by the lack of decoration though he knows Bucky is at work a lot and claims to not be an artist. He sits down on the couch, gesturing for Steve to join him. Alpine is curled up at Bucky’s feet, her vest off and hanging by the door which leads Steve to spot a bowl of food and water by where the kitchen is.
“Sorry, it’s not much.” Bucky apologizes as he turns on the TV.
“It’s alright, you only just got here.”
They sit and eat pizza in a comfortable silence, they settle on watching Jeopardy and blurting out whatever answer they think is right which is usually wrong but Bucky seems to be decent enough at it, particularly history questions. Steve spots a photo as they watch TV. A group of men somewhere in a desert, their arms slung around each other and he can see Bucky in the middle. They are dressed in combat gear with rifles slung on their shoulders and proud grins on their faces. Steve realizes that Bucky is stronger than he’ll ever be. Bucky must catch Steve looking at the photo, and of course, he does because sniper, and speaks up.
“Those are my brothers,” He says. “Not literally, I only have a sister. But I mean my brothers in arms.”
Steve nods and gets the point. “You guys seem rough.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
–
“Who are they?” Steve asks and Bucky wants to hug him for asking the least invasive question possible out of all the ones the picture could present.
“Uh, the short Asian guy on the far left is Corporal Jim Morita, he was our medic. Good man. The guy next to him, that’s Lieutenant Monty, he was a transfer from the S.A.S I met during some training in London. Crazy sucker. The big guy with the bad mustache and the bowler hat is Dum Dum, he was our transport guy. He was like the squad’s dad. Tall and scrawny there is Corporal Dernier, and let me tell you that guy is crazy too, he was our demo man. Found I.E.D’s and that crap. The black guy at the end is Private Gabe Jones. Youngest guy in the squad but somehow the smartest. He was our communications guy and the best translator. Helped me brush up on my Pashto when we needed it. Good group of boys, none better.”
The silence becomes heavy and thick, Steve can undoubtedly tell that there's a story there but decides to leave it and Bucky wishes he could kiss him for it. They keep watching Jeopardy until they kill off the pizza. Usually, Bucky wouldn’t have kept Steve this long, but the guy seems to be a magnet towards his body heat and presses his head to his shoulder, so Bucky resigns himself to his fate as a pillow for Steve, deciding if he could pick how he wanted to go out that it would be like this.
Bucky doesn’t understand why he told Steve about his squad mates. Usually, if anyone else had asked he probably would have told them to piss off and mind their own business but he found that he’d be disgusted with himself if he said anything like that to Steve for simply being curious, that wouldn’t be fair. His boys were good and maybe he’d bring Steve to meet them one day when he determined if Steve was strong enough to handle the rough and tumble banter of a group of rowdy and obnoxious old vets. Somehow he predicts that Steve would handle it just fine.
He doesn’t know what time he feels Steve’s breath even out, or when his eyes fully shut, but before he knows it, Jeopardy has switched to Family Fued and now Steve is asleep on his shoulder while Alpine is asleep over his feet. Bucky feels too comfortable to wake Steve up and as guilty as he feels for it, Bucky decides to take advantage of the moment and lightly closes his eyes, allowing his breathing to match Steve’s own. He tells himself that he’s just listening to make sure that he’s breathing properly. Steve had told him about his respiratory problems and it was concerning. Content with the excuse that he made for himself, Bucky feels his body settle into calm, and falls fast asleep.