Chapter 20
Now (one week later)
Bucky felt an odd mixture of relief and foreboding upon returning home to Sam’s apartment. The foreboding was familiar to him. There were always questions to be answered. Always the tension of what he’d done or what he had failed to do, preceding him in every room he entered. It was familiar as breathing.
But the relief? It was a new and strange feeling, and it had taken him a while to pinpoint what exact emotion had crept up on him.
He was relieved not to be alone anymore. Something had passed between him and Sam last week in that safe house. A new sort of trust and understanding. He could tell Sam felt it too.
But stronger and stranger than that, Bucky felt relieved to be alive. It was bizarre. He’d spent years of his life wishing, consciously or subconsciously, to die. Years running into missions where the chance of survival was slim. He’d remind himself that dying really didn’t matter - that dying would at least be an end to the hurt and suffering he inflicted on others. And a respite for him as well - even if there was no afterlife, dead people did rest. They didn’t have to think or remember or feel. That had been appealing to him for many years.
But now - he had been seconds away from being dead forever. He’d felt a sick knowledge of his body shutting down, and along with it, a primal fear for survival. It was the kind of fear that made a man cling to life beyond the limits of what he’d thought were possible.
When Sam had shot Haverly - not a businessman or a rival crime lord, but a HYDRA agent and one of the men responsible for the most humiliating and sickening moments of Bucky’s life, everything he’d been holding in had burst out of him. He sobbed on the floor, remembering the pain that had been inflicted on him. Remembering the men who had used him - some wounding, some soothing. The soothing hands were worse, most of the time. The violence was normal to him. The most shameful moments - him with his mouth closed and eyes shut tight while he allowed another man to tenderly caress his body and face - that was a level of humiliation that burned inside him with a deep and primal shame. The fact that Haverly had used the word “love” to talk about what he did to Bucky - it made his skin crawl.
That’s why it had been so difficult with Steve, even years later. To have someone touch him with tenderness and good intentions was almost unfathomable to him. Sometimes his brain went somewhere else. He imagined it was someone else in bed with him, not Steve. And Steve would always bring him back to reality. Holding his face. Whispering his name.
This was the first time he’d thought about Steve and felt anything other than bitterness and regret. He felt gratitude. He did wonder if he could ever feel that safe again, with someone else. But for the first time, there was, at least, hope.
The door to the apartment swing open. “There he is,” said Sam with a grin. “How you feeling Bucky?”
“I’ve had worse,” he responded.
“You up for a visitor?”
It was Natasha, gingerly walking in with Sam supporting her.
Bucky’s face broke into a smile. “Hey! Look who’s up and running around!”
Natasha grinned. “You know they can’t keep me down for long.”
She plopped down on the couch next to Bucky. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it.
“Who’s up for some pizza and beers?” said Sam.
“Me,” Natasha moaned. “I’m ready for some real food.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Bucky. He was actually hungry.
Sam stopped for a minute in foraging for his phone. He took in the two of them on the couch. “I’m so glad we are all here right now. I’m so glad the two of you are ok.” He had tears in his eyes.
They didn’t respond. They didn’t need to. They all knew the feeling was mutual.