“Alright,” Bucky said, as he sat down across from Sam at their dining room table. “Just spit it out already, Wilson.”
Their dining room table. In their dining room. On the floor they shared in the Tower, even though the building was more than big enough to give every active Avenger, and a couple who weren’t, their own floors. Shoot, honestly, the new campus could’ve been the size of a shoebox, and Sam still would’ve ranked his own floor considering he was Captain America, and yet… the floor was theirs.
Sam hadn’t had his own anything, including his own space, in a long long time.
Where Sam went, Bucky followed. It was as simple as that. One gifted super suit and one spontaneous sleepover was all it took for Sam to suddenly have a grumpy hundred-something year old shadow trailing him everywhere he went. Truthfully, it had taken a hot minute for Sam to get used to Bucky’s never-ending presence, but he did get used to it.
Then he became comfortable with it.
Eventually he’d even grown to like it.
For years, everything was good, great even. Sam marched on through life with his moody partner beside him, and didn’t really think twice about it or how rapidly time seemed to be passing him by.
That is, until he woke up one day with his back aching and his right knee blown up to twice its size from an impromptu mission the night before, and realized that he’d probably grown to like things too much, and had probably grown too comfortable and too complacent with the way his life was currently going. Because there he was, kicking fifty in the ass, and what did he have to show for it but a busted knee and a best friend who was griping at him about it? No romantic prospects beyond his regular hookups, no kids, no property, just a body that was starting to feel every bit its age with each passing day, and a job that never really allowed him to clock out.
Don’t get Sam wrong, he loved being Cap. He didn’t regret picking up the wings again or inheriting the shield. But sometimes when he didn’t have a mission (or a Bucky) to distract him, and was left alone with his thoughts for too long, like he was when he was laid up with a messed up leg because some witch in Midtown had an ax to grind, he couldn’t help but think about what if? What if he’d taken a different path? What if he still could take a different path? Yeah, it was too late to watch Cass and AJ grow up, and that was even more true when it came to Jim, but maybe it wasn’t too late to watch some kids of his own.
Now, usually when Sam would have those kinds of thoughts, they’d be gone as quickly and as suddenly as they’d appeared. He had never been one for daydreaming about “what could have been.” This time was different though. Maybe it was his age. Maybe it was the fact that he’d had to miss Cass’ most recent birthday because of some bureaucratic bullshit that he didn’t even think really fell under his job description. Or, maybe he really was just tired of the gig.
Well, whatever the reason, Sam couldn’t shake the thoughts invading his mind that time. All he could think about was leaving the Tower and this life behind for good.
So he started to plan.
Sure, he felt a little guilt about his decision, but not too much. He wouldn’t be the first man to drastically change the course of his life out of the blue one random day, and his potential midlife crisis didn’t even involve a red sports car or a mistress half his age, so he figured it wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t like his decision to leave really had the potential to hurt anyone.
Well, except maybe Bucky.
Bucky wasn’t Sam’s spouse, or anything even remotely close, but damned if getting ready for this dinner and the subsequent discussion he was planning to have hadn’t had Sam feeling like he was getting ready to deliver the most serious (and most dramatic) breakup of his life.
And, frankly, that’s probably exactly what it was going to be — a dramatic, uncomfortable ass breakup — even if there wasn’t a single thing romantic about their relationship.
Sam’s friendship with Bucky had lasted longer than any romantic relationship, or friendship for that matter, that he'd ever had. Shoot, Sam had spent more time with Bucky than he’d ever spent with Leila or Riley, or even Steve.
They were close, probably as close as two platonic friends could be. Drastically changing their dynamic was going to be difficult, even for Sam, even if the change was his idea. However, he felt it was necessary. Maybe it was selfish, but there were things Sam wanted, and he wasn’t going to get them by spending all his time with Bucky, holed up in their suite, or running around the globe chasing bad guys.
Changing paths like this was going to be tough, but Sam needed to do it. He wanted to do it.
First though, he really did have to tell Bucky.
“Sam,” Bucky said, and this time his voice held the unmistakable note of concern. “What is it?” He glanced at the table. “Real plates, real food, and two starches for the sides instead of a starch and a vegetable.” He grimaced. “You’re not dying are you?”
Sam fought the urge to smile and cleared his throat instead, adopting his most serious expression.
“No,” he paused, steeling himself, then, “I am retiring though. At the end of the month.”
Bucky’s head tilted to the side. He looked about as lost as Sam had ever seen him.
“What?”
“Yeah uh,” Sam laughed uneasily, “there’s gonna be a ceremony and everything. In house, with a couple of reporters Pepper actually trusts to break the news gently. But, yeah, I’m gonna retire and give the shield to Elijah. He’s not taking the title, he had a lot of feelings about that actually, but he is taking the shield,” Sam reiterated, lest Bucky have a meltdown about where that hunk of metal was going to end up. “And, well, even though I think he’d probably rather die than admit it, I'm pretty sure he’s kinda excited about it,” Sam said, smiling wryly, but hopefully, up at Bucky.
When he didn’t respond, Sam forced his smile to stay in place, and tried to keep going.
“I know it seems sudden, and I guess it is, but—
“Yeah, no shit.”
Sam blinked. “Huh?”
“No shit it’s sudden.” Bucky let out a shaky laugh, and ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, Wilson, what the hell are you even talking about right now?”
Sam reached for patience, and made an effort to reply steadily and calmly.
“I’m retiring, Bucky,” he said, slowly, and shrugged. “It’s time.”
“Is this because of the other day?” Bucky asked.
He felt like he was grasping at straws even as the question left his mouth, but he couldn’t think of one good reason Sam would’ve decided to do this, and seemingly out of nowhere too.
“Yeah, that mission went to shit for a minute, and you got banged up real bad, but just because you’re moving a few seconds slower than you used to, that’s no reason to quit,” Bucky argued, leaning forward in his seat. “You’re still the best damn hero on the roster — the best Captain America we could ask for. The best person to carry the shield.”
He shook his head, with exasperation or disbelief, or a combination of both, Sam couldn’t be sure. One thing he was sure of, Bucky had worked himself up good and proper. He was halfway out of his seat when he said:
“Eli’s great. He’ll be a great leader one day. But that day isn’t today, Sam.”
“No, it’s the twenty-eighth,” Sam said, mildy. “That’s the day I’m giving him the shield, and I’d like you to be there by my side when I do.”
Sam’s soft voice might’ve been a stark contrast when compared to the raw emotion infusing Bucky’s harsh tone, but inside his feelings were running just as wild as Bucky’s apparently were.
He’d expected Bucky to have an opinion — hell, Bucky had an opinion about everything — and he’d expected Bucky to try to talk him out of retiring, but not like this.
Bucky was out of his chair, yelling at Sam, mildly insulting him in one breath while being almost sweet and complimentary in the next, which, yeah, wasn’t exactly new, but it was never quite this… dramatic. Or, well, at least it hasn’t been in years.
“Why are you doing this?” Bucky asked, suddenly, almost desperately, not bothering to acknowledge or respond to Sam’s request.
Sam sighed. “For a bunch of reasons, but mostly because I want a life,” he said, honestly. “The stuff I want, the stuff I see when I picture the rest of my life, I’m not gonna find it here.”
Sam started to explain further, but paused, because Bucky had reared back at Sam’s words, almost like he’d been struck.
“Bucky?” Sam rose from his seat, and came closer. He didn’t like the suddenly blank look on his friend’s face. “What’s—
“I’ll be there,” Bucky said abruptly, interrupting him.
“What?”
“When you give the shield to Elijah,” Bucky said, but his voice didn’t sound right.
Hell, he didn’t look right.
“That’s not important now. What just ha—
“It’s important to you though, right?” Bucky cut him off again.
He still looked off, but he sounded a little better. Resigned? Maybe even sad? But at least his voice wasn’t hollow anymore.
“So it’s important to me,” Bucky continued, and gave Sam, quite possibly, the saddest imitation of a smile he’d ever seen. “Don’t you know I’ll always have your back, Sammy?” He said.
And then he just left.
Dinner was still on the table, a conversation still clearly very much needed to take place, and yet Bucky was just… gone.
Sam didn’t know what had happened, but he had the feeling he’d hurt Bucky somehow, and not because he was retiring, but because… what? What had he said? Not much. They’d only talked for a minute before, as usual, Bucky was arguing about something he didn’t even fully understand. And why didn’t he understand it? Because, as if Bucky had reverted to the worst period of the entire time they’d known one another, he was jumping all down Sam’s throat without giving Sam a chance to explain.
What the hell?
******
Bucky came back to their suite long after Sam had gone to bed. The next morning he apologized, and in the coming weeks he acted like nothing had ever happened at all.
And when it came time for Sam to put on a different kind of suit, make his announcement, and pass down the shield, Bucky was there as promised.
But afterwards, Bucky seemed to be trying his best to fall off the face of the earth. When Sam wanted him to come see his new place, Bucky got Eli to give him a mission. When Sam invited him out for a beer, he feigned an illness. And when Sam pointed out that he couldn’t catch the common cold, Bucky simply didn’t respond to the text.
Oh, Bucky didn’t go back to square one completely. He never let too much time pass by without shooting Sam a cute cat video or a “what’s up” text, but he never let it go any deeper than that either. And he absolutely never agreed to meet Sam in person. He couldn’t.
Between their conversation the night Sam told him about his impending retirement, and the conversation he’d had with Sarah right after it, Bucky knew enough to know that Sam was retiring because he was having some sort of midlife crisis. He wanted a partner, and a kid, and everything that went along with it.
And since Sam had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t think — hell, apparently he couldn’t even fathom getting any of that while hanging around the Tower and Bucky, Bucky couldn’t face him.
Not when he’d been gone on Sam since about five seconds after he’d met him, really met him, in a shitty Volkswagen on the other side of the world. Not when he’d spent the better part of the past ten years falling in love and trying to make up for how he’d initially acted when he first really started to get to know Sam. Christ. If Bucky saw Sam in person, and Sam started talking about how desperate he was to date and settle down (Sarah’s words), Bucky might do something truly crazy like confess his own feelings.
Nope. He couldn’t take the chance of that happening. So he avoided Sam and tried to act as normally as he could around everyone else.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t really working.
“Talk to Sam lately?” Bucky asked, as he sat down across from Misty, then tried not to grimace at the raised eyebrow she sent him.
“Not since the last time you asked me… yesterday,” she said, looking back down at her chips.
“Oh,” he said, willing himself not to turn red. “I just thought—
She huffed, or maybe laughed, he honestly couldn’t tell.
“Please just call him, Bucky,” she said, looking up at him again.
Oh. Okay. She was definitely laughing at him.
“Why? Jeez. I was just making conversation.”
That time she flat-out snorted.
“Bucky, we’ve been on the same team for almost a year and you’ve talked to me more this past month than you have during the whole time we’ve been working together. Now, I know it’s not my sparkling personality that keeps bringing you to the communal cafeteria and to my table in particular. And do you know how I know?”
“No,” he ground out. “How?”
He looked like he was daring her to actually respond, but his murder eyes just made her lips twitch even more.
“Because you only ever ask me about Sam,” she said, bluntly. “And instead of asking me, you really ought to be calling him,” she went on, her attention back on her wrap. “You know,” she paused momentarily to pour some dressing on her plate, “the last time I spoke to Sam he actually told me that you’re avoiding him.” Her gaze flickered to his briefly. “I wonder why that is,” she said, sarcastically, lips twitching again, then finally bit into her food.
“Goodbye, Misty.”
He was already out of his seat and reaching for his protein bar when Misty quickly swallowed and said:
“Oh, he does have a date tonight.”
She said it as if she’d just remembered, but the mischievous look on her face said otherwise.
“According to Luke anyway,” she continued, now that Bucky’s attention was firmly back on her. “Apparently it’s his first date in a long time. But, she’s supposed to be an old friend,” she added, slyly.
The change in her voice combined with the expression she was wearing was enough to have Bucky fearing the worst.
“Who?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking.
“Leila Taylor,” she replied, almost smirking at that point. “Has Sam ever mentioned her to you?”
Bucky didn’t even have to respond, his face said it all.
“Anyway,” she went on, in the face of Bucky’s silence. “They’re getting drinks at seven at that hole in the wall he likes off 110th Street.” She paused long enough to give him a pointed look. “So if I were you, I’d hurry.”
Bucky didn’t say another word, he didn’t even nod, but he did head for the exit like his ass was on fire, and Misty sighed contentedly. There. She’d done her good deed for the day.
******
For years, Bucky had eagerly and meticulously collected every bit of Sam and Sam adjacent lore he could. So, yeah, he knew who Leila was. He just didn’t know who she was to Sam, who she’d ever been to Sam.
Leila wasn’t Riley okay? Riley was… Look, Sam spoke about Riley the way Bucky’s ma had always spoken about his father after his accident on base. No, Sam and Riley hadn’t been married, hadn't even come close to being married to hear Sam tell it. However, the way Sam talked about Riley was so different from how he spoke about anyone else he’d dated. Frankly, Bucky saw Sam as a widower when it came to Riley, even if he technically wasn’t.
Simply put: it was plain as day that Sam would never love anyone in quite the same way he loved Riley.
That included Leila.
However, while she might not have gotten the reverence Riley did, and while her picture didn’t sit in a place of prominence on Sam’s mantle the way Riley’s always had in their Tower suite, on the rare occasions when Sam did speak of Leila, it was always with fondness and warmth, and maybe a little bit of… longing? Regret?
If Riley had basically been a spouse, was Leila the one who got away? Was she the best that never was? Sam’s biggest What If?
Well, that’s kind of what Bucky had always thought, but he’d never said it, and more importantly neither had Sam, so Bucky couldn’t be sure. But, again, he’d long suspected that Leila was Sam’s one that got away. And, sometimes, even though it was ridiculous, even though it was borderline pathetic, Bucky would wonder what Sam would do if he was ever in Leila’s presence again.
It was looking like he wouldn’t have to wonder anymore though. If he minded his business, went home and let things between Sam and Leila progress in the way they most likely would, and then actually answered his phone the next time Sam gave him a call, he could and would probably find out just what Leila meant to Sam.
That’s what a normal friend would do, a mature friend, a good friend.
Luckily, well, luckily for Bucky anyway, there wasn’t anything normal or mature about the way he felt about Sam Wilson. And, yeah, he did think he was a good friend, a great friend really, but he was also a great friend with a big ol’ crush. More specifically, he was a great friend with a big ol’ crush who wasn’t capable of leaving well enough alone, so he hopped on his motorcycle and hauled himself right on over to Sam’s house about five seconds after he talked to Misty.
He was knocking — well, more like banging — on the front door to Sam’s newly acquired home before he could think twice about it, and Sam was opening it before Bucky even had half a mind what he should say.
Only, Sam wasn’t in one of his many pairs of khakis, or a suit, or even one of his nicer pairs of jeans. No, he was rocking the same gray sweats that had managed to secure a seemingly never-ending starring role in Bucky’s dreams and a ratty white t-shirt, and was holding onto a giant bowl of popcorn for dear life.
“Bucky,” he said, face scrunched in confusion. “What are you doing here?”
“Being pranked, apparently,” Bucky mumbled under his breath, then almost laughed. Freakin’ Misty.
“Huh?” Sam asked, the frown on his face becoming deeper.
God. He looked all lost and disgruntled and adorable.
Bucky sighed.
“Nothing,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “Just uhh can I come in?”
“Sure, why not? I mean, I’ve been inviting you to hang out for weeks now, but showing up at my door unannounced works too,” he said, sarcasm punctuating each word, but still he stepped back to allow Bucky inside. “So,” he said, as Bucky followed him down the hallway and into the living room. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Now, given Sam’s state of dress and apparent complete lack of urgency to speed their encounter along, Bucky was ninety-nine percent sure Misty had been f’ing with him earlier, but he had to be completely sure.
“Are you going on a date with Leila Taylor tonight?” He paused briefly, thoughtfully. “Or any night in the foreseeable future?”
“Sure—
Bucky’s heart plummeted.
— first I just have to get over to headquarters and fire up the Quantum Tunnel, so I can go back in time to when that would’ve been even a remote possibility,” he deadpanned, rolling his eyes.
Just like that, Bucky’s heart was racing again and he was filled with hope. Hope could be dangerous though, so he couldn’t help but to double check.
“So you’re not going out with Leila… or anyone?”
“No,” Sam said, drawing out the word, as he leaned against the back of his couch and sat the bowl down on the end table beside it. “Bucky, what’s going on?”
What was going on? Hell, Bucky didn’t know. Well, okay, so that wasn’t true, like at all. Of course he knew exactly what was going on: he was in love with Sam, had been in love with Sam, so much so that even the whisper of Sam hooking up with Leila had been enough to get Bucky to end his weeks-long self-imposed isolation and come running to Sam’s door.
So, yeah, Bucky knew what was going on, but that didn’t mean he could tell Sam. How could he? Bucky had spent damn near a decade not telling Sam, because he just knew Sam didn’t want to hear it. Nothing about that had changed just because Misty had inspired him to show up at Sam’s house. Bucky was still hopelessly in love with Sam, and Sam was still uninterested in a future with Bucky, so what was there to even say?
“Bucky,” Sam said, and that time his voice was sharp enough to force Bucky out of his head and had him meeting Sam’s gaze once again.
“Yeah?”
“What’s going on?” Sam repeated, slowly, eyes narrowing in either confusion or annoyance, Bucky couldn’t be sure, but he felt himself flushing anyway.
“Why have you been acting so strange lately?” Sam continued, and folded his arms across his chest, almost defensively. “I mean, what, are you mad at me or something?”
A burst of borderline hysterical laughter escaped from Bucky’s mouth at that. He couldn’t help it though. Here he was, so in love with Sam, he could hardly see straight, and Sam thought he was mad at him. Go figure.
Now, admittedly, up until maybe thirty seconds ago, even though he’d rushed over to Sam’s like a bat out of hell just to see if he was dating (read: stop him from dating), Bucky still hadn’t seen himself spilling his guts to the guy. But, now that they were face to face, and Sam was looking at him with a mixture of betrayal, hurt, and anger, all tinged with a hint of baffled confusion, Bucky felt the words spilling out of his mouth before he could think better of it.
“Mad at you?” He echoed, incredulously. “Sam, I’m in love with you.”
Sam blinked at him, his arms falling to his sides and grabbing onto the couch, almost as if he were steadying himself.
“What?” He whispered, looking about as shocked as Bucky had ever seen him.
But… he wasn’t running for the hills, and he didn’t look disgusted, so Bucky pressed on.
“I’m in love with you,” he repeated, bluntly. “So when you retired, so you would be free to run off and fall in love, and have babies, I might’ve… spiraled a little, but I’m not mad at you.”
Sam looked dumbfounded. “I… what?”
“Look, it doesn’t have to mean anything,” Bucky rushed to say. “And I really probably shouldn’t have even said anything, but I don't want you thinking I’m avoiding you ‘cause I’m mad at you, Sammy,” he said, earnestly.
“So you’re avoiding me because you’re in love with me?” He said, arching an eyebrow.
Bucky sighed. “Sam—
“No, no, we’re supposed to be co-workers, partners, buddies, best friends even, but instead of telling me how you feel, or telling me anything really, you just duck and dodge me for a few weeks?” He shook his head. “You didn’t say a word to me, you didn’t even try, you just disappeared, Bucky. That’s messed up.”
“I know,” he insisted, then moved forward, until he was standing right in front of Sam. “I know, and I’m so damn sorry, Sammy. Clearly, that wasn’t the right thing to do. But can you understand? I don’t know if you’ve ever confessed to having feelings for someone you absolutely know doesn’t feel the same way about you, but it’s scary as fuck,” he said, and gave a shaky laugh. “And the thought of doing it — the thought of making things weird or awkward between us, was just… too much, so I freaked a little.”
“A little?” Sam scoffed. “God, Bucky,” he pushed away from the couch, standing straight and facing him head on, “I know it’s hard to be honest with people sometimes, and to show your true feelings, especially for guys like us, but I still deserved the chance to know what was going on with you. I mean, don’t I at least mean that much?”
“Sam, you mean everything! You know that.”
“Then act like it.”
“I am,” Bucky snapped back, full of adrenaline. But then, arguing with Sam always got his blood going. Hell, anything having to do with Sam always got his blood going. “Maybe I’m late, and maybe I’m doing it ass backwards, but I’m here right now laying it all on the line. Shouldn’t I get a little credit?”
Bucky’s voice was just about as indignant as Sam had ever heard it, and his full lips were on display and turned down into full-on pout. He looked seconds away from stomping his feet or maybe even whining.
He also looked really really cute.
And it stuck Sam kind of dumb. Because, sure, he had eyes, so he knew Bucky was handsome, like he knew a lot of people were handsome, but Sam had never thought of him as cute. And looking at Bucky, hadn’t ever had his heart beating in double time like it was now. And his chest had never heaved, and his mouth had never gone dry, and he’d never ever looked at Bucky and thought: Maybe…
But, suddenly, Sam was thinking that now. He was thinking a lot of things now.
Not the most coherent things, and certainly not the most responsible and sensible things, but he was thinking a whole lot of things at that moment. Chief among them being: I really ought to kiss Bucky.
So he did. He closed the already negligible space between them, leaned in, and kissed him.
Now, fireworks didn’t go off, and time didn’t stop, but something between them definitely shifted — became stronger, better even. It was comfortable. It was nice. And Sam found himself sighing contentedly when he finally pulled away.
This wasn’t anything Sam had thought he wanted, and it certainly wasn’t anything he’d ever expected. But… it was something he liked, something he could see himself liking again and for a very long time, if he’d only give it a try.
“Hey, Bucky…”
“Hmm?” He murmured.
And he looked so dazed that Sam couldn’t stop himself from grinning smugly when he said:
“You should really ask me out.”