you were a kindness (when i was a stranger)

When Bucky finally does notice, he blinks. “You’re still awake.”

Steve looks as tired as he had earlier, bags looking almost like bruises under his eyes. Fhe blankets are bunched around his waist where he’s sleeping on what’s usually Bucky’s side of the bed. “Who were you talking to?” The question is clearly meant to be casual, but there’s something about how panicked Steve looks that makes Bucky feel like he’s being accused. Of what, he doesn’t know. 

“What?”

Steve’s shoulders are squared up and stiff, even as he’s forcing what Bucky assumes is meant to be a sad excuse of a smile on his face. The way his voice sounds is no better. It’s downright unnatural. “Who’s the lucky gal? Or guy, I guess, if that’s still your speed.” Bucky thinks those words were meant to come out good natured, but there doesn’t look to be anything good about how Steve is feeling right now at all. 

Truth be told, Bucky is at a bit of a loss. Steve was relatively okay when he left. What happened after that has him looking so hurt? And why is he asking if Bucky is- Oh. It clicks together. They’ve both always kind of been idiots, but when it comes to this sort of stuff, especially Steve. Bucky should have seen this coming. Hell, it should have been expected with how Bucky has been holding him, but only at a bit of an arm’s length away.

Bucky kicks off his boots before walking over and sitting on the bed, positioning himself right where Steve can be sitting beside him. “You really wanna know who I was on the phone with?”

Steve looks uncertain about that, but he still nods while wearing that awful smile. Bucky hopes he can put a real one back on his face. “I guess your love life is part of us catching up.”

Idiot. Bucky has half the mind to smack him and then kiss it better just to show him the truth, but first he has to fix this with words. Then actions. “Well,” he drawls, giving Steve an amused look. “Since my love life is still pretty much limited to you, I’d say we’re practically already on the same page.” Steve gapes at him and goes still. Bucky rolls his eyes and really does have to smack him for that, settling on a compromise and doing it with a kiss laid on top of his temple. “You really thought I’d ever let a pretty thing like you go?”

Same as with the Steve on the phone, this Steve is so earnest that it’s almost cute. Or it would be, if the relief that spreads across his face wasn’t so heartbreakingly palpable. This is something he’s been caught up in his head about, and Bucky had barely noticed. He tries not to beat himself up about it too much- after all, there have been a lot of other things they bad to get to first today. 

That still doesn’t make the weak protest Steve tries to offer up any easier to hear, not when he sounds so hopeful and hesitant both. “I know that it’s weird having me back around, even if it’s just for…just for right now, but,” he clears his throat, but his voice still sounds rough. “Like I said, Buck, you don’t gotta put yourself out just for me.” He smiles again, and it’s so wobbly it’s even worse than before. “After all, you’ve known me for less than a day.”

“Bullshit,” Bucky says, unable to hold it back. He fixes his eyes on Steve’s face, stoic and still and so goddamn sad he can’t let it rest like that for any longer. “I’ve known you my entire damn life. Don’t try and back out of it now.”

Even while upset, Steve’s stubbornness remains. “I’m not trying to!”  he insists, glaring right back into Bucky’s even gaze. “But I also don’t see me from the future exactly walking around, so unless I’m dead or something, what else am I supposed to think besides maybe you wanted me to walk away?” Before Bucky can smack some more sense into him, he’s shaking his head and drawing up his shoulders, glare faded in favor of sweeping his eyes around the hut, followed by a sweep of his hand. “I see all the stuff you have lying around that’s clearly someone else’s. I’m not blind. Or deaf.” He scoffs, a sorry excuse of a laugh. “Not anymore.”

Bucky sighs and tries to grab Steve by the shoulders to turn him so they’re face to face, but they’re so hunched up that he can’t. “Sweetheart-“

“I ruined your life, Buck,” Steve says, devastatingly small. “I’m not gonna blame you for wanting to live the rest of it with someone else.”

That hits Bucky harder than a knife to the gut ever has. Steve thinks… he’s so damn guilty that he’s willing to force himself to be alone. Again. Even though he knows how awful it is. Bucky knows how awful it is. He also knows that Steve Rogers, for all that he’s good at, absolutely sucks at being on his own. He’s useless alone. Gets lost in that head of his until he can’t find his own way out. The last few times Bucky had to leave him alone… well, there’s a reason he wishes Steve would stay with him now. Neither of them have the best track record of what they do when not with the other. 

The Steve that’s with him now is living proof of that. Bucky can’t hardly make heads nor tails of what he’s saying when he’s going so fast. “I don’t- you don’t have to try and keep the truth from me about this. I shouldn’t be here in the first place, let alone in your bed, in your clothes, in your damn home-“ He stops suddenly and his breathing is just as heavy as what Bucky had just heard on the phone. Then, in the same tiny voice as before, “If there’s another person, you can just tell me.”

Bucky hates just about everything that’s just come out of the younger man’s mouth. He is Bucky’s home no matter what times they’re from- in Bucky’s bed is where Steve belongs. With Bucky is where he belongs. Why can’t Steve just let himself hear that?

The best remedy for a situation like this when it comes to Steve, Bucky has found, is honesty. Telling the truth as blunt as he can. It’s what he’d had to do after the first time they kissed, and now, he’s going to do it again. He lets himself sound exasperated when he says it so he can get across just how ridiculous Steve’s conviction is that Bucky wouldn’t want him around. He shifts on the bed so that they’re sitting even closer and grips him by the chin like he’d done earlier. It’s always his go to move when he doesn’t want Steve getting too deep into his own head. 

“Steve,” he sighs, honest as he’s ever been. “Honey. That person is you.” He moves forward so that he’s right in his space, foreheads leaned together. Steve doesn’t try to pull away, so Bucky presses on. “It’s always been you. Always gonna be you.”

Steve is very still yet again, lips barely moving when he speaks. “Then where am I?” he whispers dully, like he still doesn’t believe. “Why am I not with you?”

Bucky wishes he had a good answer to that himself, but Steve doesn’t need another one of Bucky’s troubles to try and take blame for. “You come home to me when you can,” he tells him after taking a second to think of what to say. It’s the truth, one he’s been holding on to as tightly as he can. “You never get any less stubborn, you know.” He shakes Steve’s chin in a playfully chastising gesture, then removes his hand to clap it over one clean shaven side of his face. “Still have it in you that you’re convinced you need to always save the world.”

He says that, but really, he thinks that Steve now looks so tired that maybe the world needs to start saving him. Bucky will be the one who helps that begin. He tries first by nudging their mouths closer together, the phone call he had with the current Steve still fresh on his mind. 

I trust you, he’d said. To take care of me. 

Bucky will be damned if he doesn’t do that now. And it’s with that vow in mind that he finally makes the move he’s been wanting to since Steve woke up in the palace, pressing their mouths together and kissing the younger man with all the passion he’s sure Steve has been left wanting for since he woke up from the war. Steve sinks into it with a broken sound that Bucky wants to make sure Steve will never have to make over him ever again. The next noise Steve makes is better- a breathy little sigh that Bucky breathes in, both hands sinking into all that middle parted hair so he can roll Steve back onto the pillow and set about sighing himself. 

It’s a heady kiss- how can it not be when it’s the first one that they’ve shared on Steve’s end since the fall?- but it’s not one Bucky wants to let get carried away, not quite yet. It’s been… a day. And he doesn’t think Steve needs to get too hot under the collar right now. Based off of now his fingers are trembling where they’re tangled into Bucky’s own hair, he thinks that what Steve needs is to be held. Far be it from Bucky to not be the one to hold him. 

When he pulls back, he makes sure to keep his hands in place so Steve knows he’s not trying to push him away completely. “Do you understand now?” he asks lowly, eyes level with Steve’s own where they’ve gone wide and almost worshipful, almost as shiny as his now slack mouth is from the kiss. 

“Yeah,” Steve gets out wetly, and then he’s burying his face in Bucky’s neck to hide his face when he goes on, words a faint whisper into the seam of where metal meets skin under Bucky’s shirt. “I think I do.” 

He’s quiet after that and so is Bucky, spending the next few minutes in silence to soak up this moment that they’re by some miracle both in. Bucky closes his eyes and listens to Steve’s breathing evening out, metal hand once again moving down to rub small circles into the small of his back. It’s his secret soft spot. Always gets him sweet to the touch- it still works now, based off of how he exhales shakily into Bucky’s frayed shirt sleeve. 

Speaking of Bucky’s shirt, he really needs to set about getting changed so he can join Steve in the bed now that he’s sure they can comfortably share it. He pats Steve on the back and breathes out a quiet “you’re okay” as he retracts. Steve looks okay when he lets go, at least. A bit overwhelmed and exhausted, but that’s pretty justified with what they’d been through today. Bucky wonders how well they’re both going to sleep, but first he actually has to get ready to do that. He brushes Steve’s bangs out of his face. “You mind if I get changed?”

Steve leans into the touch like a puppy searching for pets, but nods and ends up being the one to move away to lay back against the pillows. “You gonna try and make me close my eyes?” He sounds like he’s trying tentatively to tease. 

Bucky laughs and leans down just to kiss his forehead and then flick at his nose. “You wanna take a peep at the goods, go right ahead.” Then, sobering up slightly, “You can let yourself be shocked by what you see. I won’t be offended.” That’s not technically a lie. He won’t be offended, just maybe a little less secure than he usually would like to be. But this is a first time for Steve, he has to tell himself, yet another Bucky is going to take- this time, because it’s about Bucky himself. 

The scarring surrounding the arm isn’t anything to shy at, and while he suspects maybe Steve had felt some of it under the layers of his shirt when they hugged, he hadn’t said or asked anything telling. Bucky’s body and what it’s been taken through isn’t something he’s ashamed of, not anymore. Bucky just… he wants to prepare for it to be a shock for Steve. It seems only fair that he’s duly warned. Steve frowns slightly, furrow between his brows showing up, but he nods. Bucky sort of always wants to smooth that divot out with his thumb. 

He doesn’t do that right now, instead opting to slide off the bed and towards the hamper on the opposite side of the room so he can start to peel off his socks and then the top layer of his shirt. He hesitates on what to remove next- the pants or the shirt. 

Steve speaking from the bed brings him his answer. He’s laying sideways now, curled up with the covers over his shoulders and a small smile playing on his face. “You know, we once saw a guy peel all the skin of his face off,” he points out, eyes flicking down to Bucky’s waist, then back up with an expression Bucky can only describe as wanting. Wanting what, Bucky doesn’t have to ask. He knows. He feels the same way. “I don’t think a couple of marks on the body of the man I love are gonna scare me.”

Bucky huffs and shakes his head, but takes the hem of his shirt in hand even as he responds. “You don’t know what there is to see, Steve,” he murmurs, the memory of the first time the other Steve saw him do this, saw all the scars in person instead of in the photos of a file. They’d both practically been paralyzed with what they were feeling on both ends. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” He doesn’t intend for that to come across as bitter as it does, but something shutters across Steve’s face at it that makes Bucky sigh and scrub his hand over his face, the sound of his beard rasping against his palm so loud compared to the stiff silence that Steve must be able to hear it from the bed. “Sorry.”

Steve doesn’t acknowledge the apology past pressing his lips together. Then, after a moment that he spends with them in a tight line, they part. “So show me.” He sits up again, and Bucky wonders if they’ll ever actually get to sleep. “I want to see,” he says, hushed and hopeful. There’s hesitance there too, but the other parts of his tone win out in the end. “Please.”

He sounds so genuine with his wanting that Bucky doesn’t know what else to do but give in. He wants this too, but he also knows how hard this is going to be for Steve to take in. Steve blames himself for Bucky’s problems already. Bucky doesn’t want his body to be the burden that bears him the proof. He has hesitance too, but same as with Steve, the hope and the urge to be honest win out in the end when he finally bites the bullet and strips off the black tank to expose to remnants of where he’d once been hurt. 

The marks only cover the left side of his body. There’s less on his back than there is on his chest- which he supposes is because they did most of their work with him facing up at the ceiling to keep on the mask pumping out gas that left him sedated. Somehow, he doubts Steve wants to know that. Or maybe he does, because causing himself pain has always been his form of self punishment. He thinks Bucky doesn’t know about the bad boxing habits yet, but Bucky is well aware, he just doesn’t know what to say. And in any case, Steve doesn’t have a bag. Not here, at least. 

The scarring is still red in color despite the slightly higher healing capacity his enhancements have given him. They are healed- they don’t hurt, but they’re still raised and sometimes when it rains, Bucky can almost imagine them giving way to an ache of where his arm is supposed to be. With the prosthetic, that’s gotten somewhat better, but not even Shuri could get rid of the scars. Bucky doesn’t think he’d want her to anyways- they’re a testament, in a way. Attesting to everything he’s had to come back from, how he might carry the marks, but the man he is today is self made. 

There had been a time a few months ago where Steve asked to paint him one day. Not just him- the arm. He wanted to put it all on paper so Bucky could see how Steve saw him, and hopefully begin to see that part of himself the same way. It had been sweet, though a little difficult to get through. Bucky isn’t a very still person anymore. As soon as the painting was done, he’d hauled Steve up on his lap to join him where he’d made Bucky pose on the bed and didn’t let him out until the damn paint was dry. He’d made Steve see stars that day. Afterwards, when Steve showed him the painting, he’d made Bucky see himself. 

The painting is in his room at the palace now. He would have preferred to keep it closeby, but he’d prefer to keep it from being damaged even more. He’s wonder if the Steve with him now will want to draw him too, but finding that out will require Bucky to actually look at his face now that he can finally see the scarring. 

He takes a deep breath and risks a glance to where Steve is still sitting up, now ramrod straight with his mouth agape. The surprise that Bucky expected is there. The shock. There’s even something he thinks is pain, but… the surprise reflects back on Bucky’s own expression when the pity he’d predicted would make a show isn’t there. Neither is the disgust. Instead, all there is is a hitch in Steve's breath and his eyes falling shut as he tries to keep yet another round of tears from falling down his face. 

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a moment, busying himself with putting on a clean sleep shirt to replace the tank. Steve is actually the one to say something first, which is another surprise. The last time Bucky had gone through this, that Steve hadn’t been able to form new words. 

“Did it hurt?” he whispers.

Bucky closes his eyes and turns away to fumble with the putton of his pants to pull those off next. “No more than the rest did.” He doesn’t elaborate. There’s nothing else to say until he turns back to the bed and begins walking over. It’s getting late, and today has been long enough, so he tries to lighten the mood when he climbs up, Steve not commenting on his lack of pants but definitely having noticed with how he’s turned that color. “You know, you usually take the other side,” Bucky says, taking the other Steve’s shirt from the pillow and putting it on top of the dresser instead. He doesn’t want him too far away, even if a different him is in bed beside Bucky already. He settles down under the blankets in what is usually that Steve’s side of the bed. 

The Steve next to him frowns. “That one’s that mine?” He sounds surprised, and Bucky has to smack him again as he leans up to turn off the light. “Bucky.”

“Stevie,” Bucky mimics back. He lays down and rolls on his side to fix Steve with an exasperated look. “Did nothing I said earlier sink into that thick skull of yours?” He reaches out and flicks him right in the bump on his nose, still slightly smug it’s still there. Steve flushes, but doesn’t bat at the touch the way he usually would. He can’t, Bucky realizes. Not with how bad he craves it. He softens after that and makes the move to reach out and cuddle Steve closer, not caring about which side of the bed they’re on as long as they’re both lying in it. But to answer Steve’s question…“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs, pressing a kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth to make it smile up slightly. “It’s yours.”

“I’m yours, too.” Steve looks up from where he’s now curled in both of Bucky’s arms. “I’m yours,” he repeats, like a reassurance that will help him believe it again. 

Bucky will make a believer of him yet. “Always have been,” he promises. Then, leaning down to kiss him again, “Always will be.” Past, present, or future. 

If there were any questions left about whether or not this Steve is someone real or an imposter, there no longer are. When Steve sighs and shifts where he lays to tuck his nose in Bucky’s neck, it feels exactly the same, and that’s something not even magic could manage to replicate. Not when it comes to them. 

“Goodnight,” Steve murmurs, lips pressed into Bucky’s skin and arms folded up to grip the shirt covering his chest. Like he’s trying to make sure Bucky doesn’t disappear. 

What was it Steve said earlier at the palace? This is all a dream. I’m going to wake up and you won’t be with me. Did he dream of Bucky back after the ice like Bucky dreamed of him before Bucharest? Of Bucky falling down through the snow like Bucky dreamed of him falling to the river? Or does he dream of what it’s like the drown, the same Bucky dreams about what it felt like when they fried his brains out?

Don’t try to punish yourself for the past, Bucky had told him. Now, he has to tell that same thing to himself. He’s always wondered if maybe Steve would have been better off without him, and now that he’s getting a front row seat’s show… he’s not sure he likes what measure the universe made Steve take to let Bucky know. The answer is no, but for that question, it had been Bucky who has always had trouble with belief. But now… he’s never Steve seen so low. So tired. So alone. 

He’s not alone now, at least, not with Bucky’s arms around him. He’s holding him down just as hard as Steve is holding on. 

Bucky kisses his hair and murmurs into his scalp, already half asleep with the warmth of another body back against him. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.” That’s a promise he can keep. “I love you.”

Steve’s breathing is already sleepy slow, but it hitches when he hears him say those words out loud. Bucky knows it’s because he hasn’t heard them since before they went out in that goddamn snow. His voice is shy, but sure when he says it in return, words coming out faint but still feeling familiar. “I love you back.”

Bucky smiles with his eyes shut and smooths his hand through Steve’s hair, thinking to himself that tomorrow they should probably take baths before they go to the palace and give Shuri a heart attack with how they smell. He wants to show this Steve his waterfall spot as well. All that can wait for tomorrow, though. For tonight- “Goodnight to you too.”

And with that, they sleep, and Bucky ends what has possibly been the longest day of his life. 

-

When they wake, it’s with the sun- a fact that’s on Bucky for being the one who forgot to shut the curtains. There are only three windows in the hut, so it’s not too bright, but the one that always faces the sunrise acts sort of as Bucky’s alarm clock for his chores, which don’t actually amount to much- checking the gates and seeing if there are any new loads of hay for him are the main two- but the mere thought of them still rouses him this morning with a groan that he probably shouldn’t let get as loud as it does. 

Steve, who has per usual rolled off of him sometime during the night, thankfully doesn’t stir, too busy hugging the pillow to his chest with his lower half tangled under the covers. Bucky’s glad- the guy could use some sleep, even if Bucky doesn’t have the world’s softest bed. At least it’s one where they can both be in it.

Briefly, he thinks about getting up, but then remembers his promise about being here when Steve wakes up. Well, it’s not a hardship to skip the chores to stay in bed with a buxom blonde, especially not when that blonde is Steve looking as sweet as he does while sleeping. There are worse ways to spend the morning. A lot of worse ways. 

Bucky settles on lounging back instead, metal hand combing through the hair on his head while the flesh one fits under his shirt and does the same with his chest. He fiddles with both for a second, trying not to frown where he can feel it go spotty on the scarred skin of his left pec. It never grew back properly in some areas, but it’s just another thing he’s come mostly not to mind. Steve usually doesn’t mind, with how often he plants his face down into it. 

The Steve currently next to Bucky ends up doing something similar when he rolls over, snuffling in his sleep and snuggling right back up to Bucky’s side like he’s searching for heat. With the nightmares he used to have about the ice, he probably is. Bucky has to lean his head further back and close his eyes when he remembers that for this kid, it’s barely been a matter of months since the freeze. 

He’s not really a kid, but when Bucky looks at him, all he sees is a Steve that something in him is even more desperate than usual to protect. He always feels that urge with this man, but… this Steve is twenty-seven. He’s the same age as Bucky was during the fall. And passed out like this, unaware of what the world wants to take from him during the day, he looks young. He doesn’t carry that slight sadness he does when he’s awake. That sadness Bucky sees even when he smiles. He doesn’t ever tell Steve that’s why he sometimes likes to watch over him while he sleeps. 

He does that with this Steve now, smiling down at him softly. His hair gets so fluffed up with sleep at this length that he resembles a dandelion more than he does a real one, the same kind Bucky used to pick where they grew in cracks on the sidewalk to try and shove the seeded ones into his face to make him sneeze from something other than sickness. The flowers in Wakanda are definitely prettier, but Bucky sort of misses the dandelions. They were charming in a way of their own. 

What’s charming now is the way Steve sounds when he finally starts to stir, mouth smacking open into a yawn while the rest of him stretches the way one’s body can after a night of well earned rest. If anyone has earned the right to rest, it’s Steve. 

He’s awake now, though, or at least getting there by the time he finally opens up his eyes and tries to blink the sleep away to stare up at Bucky from where he’s not flat on his back with his pillow pushed to the side. Bucky props himself up on an elbow and smiles down at him again, eyes crinkling up when Steve’s do the same as he yawns yet again. “Morning, sleepyhead,” Bucky murmurs, moving a piece of hair off of Steve’s forehead with a gentle hand. “Sleep good?”

“Better than I have in a while,” Steve says, voice rough and a little raspy. He blinks again, then uses the heel of his own hand to rub at his eyes, back arching into it as he stretches a second time. “You’ve got a nice bed.”

“Yeah?” Bucky hums, carding through his hair again. “It’s even nicer when I’ve got a certain someone with me in it.” He leans down to kiss his forehead, then decides to go for the lips instead.

The phone call from last night replays in his mind. The Steve on the other end of that call had been strangely calm about all this- almost too calm, calm enough to make Bucky want to send him a text just to make sure this is all really okay and that he won’t be jealous of the idea of Buck being sweet on someone else. That someone is technically him, but it’s a weird situation. Bucky is just a little worried that he’s going to step on someone’s toes- and either way, it’ll end up being Steve’s. 

The Steve he’s more accustomed to being with like this is aware better than anyone of what it was like for him back then, though. He knows how starved for affection and touch he was, how tired, how alone. He knows what he would have needed better than Bucky does, and the fact that one conversation was all that it took to admit it… Steve trusts Bucky with him like this. It’s the only thing Bucky can do to trust him back now that he’s said it’s okay. 

So, he kisses the Steve that’s currently in his bed a little harder, heart so full of love for both versions of him that he almost can’t contain it. And maybe he doesn’t have to- Steve needs so much right now, so why shouldn’t Bucky let it out? He doesn’t know how much time they’ll have left together- him being here at all is a miracle and mystery both still. So, Bucky figures. They might as well seize the day- and as much as he’d like to stay in bed, they really should at least take a bath before they do anything that will get them more dirty. Bucky means that for the stuff they can do outside the hut, mostly- living on a farm isn’t exactly always clean. 

It’s with that thought in mind that he separates his lips from Steve’s, huffing at the sad sound of loss it pulls from where he’s still lying underneath with the upper half of Bucky’s body now blanketing him on top. “Slow down, tiger,” he teases. “If you’ve got an appetite, how’s about we find something to eat?”

Steve, now slick lipped and half lidded, looks hungry for a little more than just breakfast. Bucky tries not to think about how starved for it the younger man had let himself become just because Bucky was away. Any sort of touch, any sort of affection… He used to complain about Bucky always laying that sort of thing on too thick all the time. Bucky doubts he’ll hear those sorts of complaints now. 

Case and point, the docile way Steve nods his head now. It’s a little strange seeing him so willing, but it’s also sweet, even if Bucky doesn’t like what he knows is the cause. Steve is willing to do anything to keep Bucky from trying to leave. Like Bucky would ever want to again. “You gonna make me a farm fresh breakfast?” he jokes. 

Bucky snorts and rolls back to his side of the mattress, going through the motions of his own stretch so he can slide out of bed and begin the two step walk to his makeshift kitchen. “I mean, I could go ask the neighbor for some eggs if you want an omelette, but I’m more stocked up on Cheerios than I am on anything organic.” He pauses and shoots Steve a sly look. “Although I do have something you could try fresh from the source…” He makes a show of winking while turning to put on some pants. 

It might be gross to keep the same underwear on from yesterday for so long, but there’ll be time for clean clothes once they hit the waterfall if they end up doing what Bucky wants. Some breakfast, a dip in the water, maybe another walk- Bucky could even take him to town, if they have time. 

Steve groans and throws his forearm over his face so he can hide behind it. “You haven’t gotten any less awful,” he informs him, muffled and still morning deep. “In fact, I think you might have gotten even worse.”

“That's what happens with age,” Bucky agrees. He means for that to be another tease, but then Steve falls silent and Bucky has to finish hopping into his pants before he can turn and figure out why. 

Steve is staring at the roof now, arms resting above his head on the pillows that are still punched down with sleep. He looks like he’s thinking, and Bucky finds out about what when he speaks. “How old are you?”

It’s Bucky’s turn to take a second to think this time, but truth be told, this is already something he’s thought about a lot. He’d lost a lot of time going under for Hydra, but also some awake. He doesn’t exactly know how much, so the question of age… “That’s a tricky one,” he eventually settles on. “I don’t really have an actual way to tell, so mostly I just say I’m a year older than you.” He gives Steve a wry smile. “So right now I guess I’m thirty two.” Five years between them doesn’t seem that far when they’ve already spent seventy years apart. 

Steve’s eyes have fallen shut when Bucky glances at his face. He doesn’t open them to answer. “And here I thought you holding one year over my head was bad enough.” He sounds a bit melancholy for all that’s been missed. 

Bucky decides to try and make him smile. “You should know I’m bad to the bone more than anyone,” he jokes, leaning back over the bed so he can pinch his fingers over the slightly crooked bridge of Steve’s nose. The line works, Steve letting out a groan and for the first time since he got here, trying to shove the touch away. Bucky just laughs and holds onto his wrist instead, using the leverage to pull him out of bed. “Time to get up, big guy. We’ve got things to do, places to see.”

Steve groans again, but lets Bucky tug him out of bed so that he’s standing next to him in nothing but Bucky’s borrowed clothes and a faint blush. Bucky grims. He’s always liked being pushed around now that he’s big, and Bucky likes being able to do it. Still, Steve tries to grumble the same way he always had when he was small and Bucky tried to boss him. Bucky still tries to boss him. 

“Am I allowed to know what these things are?” Steve asks, accepting the shirt and pants Bucky throws at him while grabbing a top for himself as well. 

Bucky just shrugs coyly and strips off his shirt to switch into the clean one, not hesitating nearly as much this morning as he had last night. Steve’s eyes settle on his body for the brief moment it’s in view and Bucky grins again, moving behind him to get breakfast started while Steve starts to change into his own clothes.

“Well, I figured we could start out with getting some grub, then maybe go out for a walk,” he says, drawing out the maybe just to make Steve roll his eyes. “There’s a waterfall a little ways behind us that I tend to use as a bath. It’s a lot better than showering with a bucket, so… how’d you fancy a swim?”

Out of what seems to be nowhere, Steve freezes. It’s so imperceptible that it almost slips Bucky’s notice, but no matter how good at schooling his features Steve sometimes is thanks to practice with the Cap act, it shows through in his voice. He’s a bad liar. Has been since they were little. “That sounds… fun.”

Bucky frowns at where he’s squatting in front of the fridge and tries to figure out what’s wrong. What’s wrong with swimming? He’d taught Steve how to do it the summer he turned fourteen down at the Y, and during the war they’d bathed at least a dozen times in the river- and then, upon thinking of the war, he realizes. Shit. 

The war ended with Steve drowning not six weeks ago from his perspective. And now Bucky’s suggesting he get back in the water when he’s just gotten out from being in over his head. He wants to bang his own head against the refrigerator door. 

He looks back up at Steve and gives him a soft smile that he knows is sad around the edges. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-“

“No, it’s fine,” Steve interrupts, setting his jaw mulishly in the way he always does when he’s about to say or do something stubborn. Of course, that something stubborn immediately follows. “I’m not made of glass anymore, Buck. I’m not gonna run for the hills just because I have to wet my feet.”

Bucky has to watch him carefully for a moment before he can decide what he should do. Steve is always trying to push himself too far too soon, even after the serum, but now- Bucky is here to pull him back again. He won’t go over the edge as long as he’s around. “You sure?”

Steve nods jerkily, then tries to crack a joke as he crosses his arms over his chest. His hands are tucked under his biceps, Bucky notes, meaning he’s essentially giving himself a hug. That’s always a tell that he’s stressed. “Even if I wasn't, you sorta smell like a barnyard,” he says, forcibly light. “Princess Shuri was right.”

Bucky huffs and pulls out the orange juice he keeps in the fridge to set on top of the cooler while he figures out what else they’re going to eat. “You don’t smell any better, pal.”

“I got sucked up here when I was coming back from the gym!” Steve defends, smoothing back his hair like he’s suddenly self conscious about the sight of grease. Bucky’s seen him go at least a week without washing during the war, but he doesn’t bring that up. It’s always endearing seeing Steve get flustered from Bucky fucking with him. “I can’t help that the serum makes me sweat.”

Really, Bucky knows he was probably sweating so much from how hard he was trying to fuck up his hands. He’d walked in on Steve doing it once a few months ago up at the palace gym where the guards are meant to train, and the sight of it still sticks with him. Steve had just come off a bad mission earlier, and before they landed, Sam had texted Bucky to advise him to give him some space. Apparently it was that bad. Bad enough for Bucky to walk in after thirty minutes of staying away only to be welcomed by the sight of blood dripping from Steve’s bare, bruised up hands and pooling on the mat by his feet. 

As if that wasn’t enough, he was leading with the wrong foot. Exactly the way Bucky knows damn well he taught him not to. Out of everything, for some reason that was what had done it. That was what made Bucky march in, slamming the door shut behind him so Steve could hear him coming above the wet thud of all his too hard hits. He’d pulled out the tone Sarah taught him how to use and everything, tugging Steve away from the punching bag quite literally by the ear after calling out his name three times without answer. 

“Steve. Steve- Steven Grant, unless you’ve lost your hearing again, I expect you to answer me!”

He hadn’t lost his hearing, but Bucky had pulled on his ear so hard after that that it wouldn’t have been a surprise if he had. He just didn’t want to answer. He knew he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to, something that he knew Bucky was going to scold him about. Bucky suspects that was half of why he did it- a silent cry for help. As for the other half… well, Steve’s always had a nasty habit of letting himself get hurt. Even by hands that are his own. 

Bucky had bandaged his knuckles up and kept him from using them the entire weekend, which Steve hated, but Bucky made happen.

“You don’t see how valuable your hands are, then how about you try and see what it’s like not to use them? You think your body is expendable, but being stupid is not the same as being strong.”

Bucky is very glad Steve doesn’t have access to a punching bag now. 

But, what he does have access to is breakfast and a bath. Or at least he will, if Bucky gets to moving. He does that now, getting out two glasses to pour the juice, handing Steve one and keeping the other for himself. “You decide what you want to eat? I was serious about the eggs.” He gestures to the small shelf he has in the corner with the snacks and staples he usually uses to make their meals lined up. “Take your pick. Anything you want.”

Steve shrugs and steps closer to examine the contents of the shelf. “What is Captain Crunch?” he sounds confused. It’s cute- and a little bit funny. 

Bucky grins and goes over to grab the box and start pulling out more bowls. He’ll need to do the dishes soon, but that realization doesn’t dampen the delight he’s feeling at the moment. Steve wants Captain Crunch, out of all the cereal Bucky has? So be it. “One bowl of Captain Crunch coming up, sweet cheeks.”

Steve’s cheeks pink at the name, as sweet as Bucky said. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Not this time.” Bucky finishes pouring a bowl and brings it over to Steve along with a spoon, finishing it off with a kiss to his still flushed cheek before turning to fill his own bowl. “Though it is pretty ironic that Captain America wants some Captain Crunch.” 

Steve huffs, but doesn’t complain when Bucky ruffles his hair and directs him to plop down in the chair he’d sat on last night while Bucky chooses to sit on top of the cooler, which he often uses as a makeshift chair on its own. “Shut it, Barnes.”

Bucky just grins over the edge of his bowl and gives Steve a twinkling look. He’s so much looser than he was yesterday. Bucky loves it almost as much as he loves him. “Being rude to your host isn’t a good look,” he chastises good naturedly. “I know your Ma taught you better manners than that, Steve Rogers.” Bucky’s own mother had actually been more of the stickler for actual etiquette, but that’s not to say Sarah didn’t raise Steve right. Hell, she’d half raised Bucky as well. 

Steve gives him a side eye and swallows a bite of cereal before answering. “Says the guy talking with his mouth full.”

Bucky laughs and knocks their knees together, barely even having to move with how close they’re sitting. They’re always close when Steve can be around, but in this case, it’s even more constant than usual. Bucky doesn’t mind. “I’m a farmer. My manners don’t matter.” That’s relatively true, unless he’s at the palace. He has the decency to at least be decent around royalty, but Steve… Steve has seen him in worse situations. Half the time when Steve used to get sick, Bucky practically did everything for him but wipe his ass. 

Steve still shakes his head, but smiles around his spoon with his next bite. Then, after he swallows, “So… if that toothbrush over there is technically mine.. do you think that the other guy would mind if I used it?”

Bucky blinks around his own spoonful, this time chewing and swallowing before he speaks. Steve hasn’t actually questioned him much about the other guy since last night when he asked why he wasn’t here. “If you want to, I don’t think he would mine,” he says. “But I think you’d know better than me.”

Steve is quiet for a second, sipping from his class of orange juice. “I guess I would.” 

Bucky clears the throat in an attempt to clean up the awkwardness that’s settled over the mood as well. He isn’t sure if Steve wants to know about himself or what, but he might as well extend the offer for him to find out. “There’s some of his stuff lying around here if you want to take a look at it,” he tells him, tracking his expression to see if he should go on. He does. “But you don’t have to if it feels weird.” Everything about this situation feels weird, but even then, Bucky wants to treat him right. 

Steve sets his bowl down in his lap and looks at it. “You know what?” he murmurs. “I think I might.”

The rest of their breakfast finishes relatively quickly after that. Quietly, too. At one point, Steve gets up and takes his bowl over to the window so he can stand and watch outside. Based off of where he’s looking, Bucky wonders if he’s keeping watch for the portal that brought him here. He wonders if Steve is worried or if he wants that portal to take him back home. Back to being alone. It’s not easy to think about, so for now, Bucky doesn’t. They have the entire day to spend together, and Bucky’s itinerary requires Steve to spend exactly none of it on his own. 

When Steve turns back around, his bowl is now empty. “Where should I…?” 

Bucky takes the bowl from him and stacks it with their dishes from yesterday, well aware that he needs to wash them sometime soon. A well kept house is a sign of a well rounded life, and whatnot. He shouldn’t slip into the bad habits he had back in Bucharest, but sometimes it’s easy too easy. He tells himself he’ll take care of them later- taking care of Steve comes first. It’s always come first. “You want me to show you that stuff I was talking about?”

Steve nods shyly, hands fidgeting with the zippers on the cargo pants he’s wearing now that he has nothing to hold to busy his hands. At least they’ve stopped shaking so much. “Sure.”

The stuff Bucky was referring to isn’t really that much. He doubts that this Steve- even with as curious as he is- would care much about unwashed shirts or left behind socks that Bucky still can’t find the matches to. What he mostly has in mind is the sketchbook, something he hasn’t actually cracked open himself. Not because Steve told him he couldn’t or anything, but mostly out of unspoken respect. 

He loves Steve and he trusts him, but even then… he doesn’t think he could let him read those journals he kept back after the Potomac when he was still trying to pry himself open at the cracks to figure out what was inside. He still keeps one now, though he doesn’t have to write in it nearly as much these days. Steve has never asked to read those journals. Bucky has never asked to see the sketches Steve does while he’s here outside the ones that Steve is comfortable enough to show him. 

But, he reckons, the sketchbook is Steve’s, so that means that this guy has a right to see it. It’s not yet his hands that will make the drawings or his eyes that will see what the inspiration for them is from, but… Bucky has given him a glimpse into his future. It’s only fair Steve gets something for his own. 

It’s with that thought in mind that he abandons the dishes in favor of going to dig around for the sketchbook instead. He’s not exactly sure where he put it, but it’s precious enough for him to know he wouldn’t let it get lost. He hid it so the kids wouldn’t come inside and see in the case that their curiosity (and the open door) got the better of them. He also hid it so he could resist the temptation to open it up himself. He’s only human. 

He finds it after a few minutes of rummaging around under a stack of real books, ones Sam and Nat had gotten him as a joke for a birthday present. One of them is Steve’s biography from a few years ago, which Bucky doesn’t think any of them actually read before gifting it, because the second half of it goes over his choice with the Valkyrie in gruesome detail. He passes it over to pull out the sketchbook from the bottom of the pile. This Steve may deserve a glimpse into the future, but not one that exposes that much. 

He gives the sketchbook to Steve with a soft smile, but doesn’t pull his hands back even when Steve takes the edge of it in his own. The resistance makes Steve meet his eyes, which was exactly the point. “Do you want me to step outside while you do this?” It’s a personal thing to look at. It only makes sense it would be a private moment. 

Steve nods, although he still looks slightly apprehensive about letting Bucky leave his side. “Shouldn’t you check in with T’Challa and Shuri anyways?”

Ah. And now he’s trying to hide his emotions behind that shield- the one he had even before he started carrying the second one in the field. “I probably should, yeah,” Bucky agrees, because Steve might be posturing but he is right. Shuri said she would call him but it can’t hurt to check how they’re doing. It’ll also give him a chance to send the Steve that’s with Sam and Nat that text he mentioned last night. Can’t hurt to check in there too. 

Still, before he goes… He steps closer, close enough for Steve to have to fold up the sketchbook so that its cover and his hands are pressed into the small space between their stomachs. Bucky’s own hands come up to either side of his neck so that they can frame his jaw and stoke at the soft skin under where his sideburns meet his face, a spot so sensitive that it has Steve’s breath hitching even before Bucky leans in to capture him into a tender kiss. 

It’s not the same as what he’d given him last night or even what they’d shared this morning. He’s not trying to prove a point so much as he’s trying to encourage him. Tell him that it’s going to be okay. 

The kiss only lasts a few moments, but Bucky makes sure to lean their foreheads together after so he can murmur out one last reassurance. “I’ll be right outside.” Steve nods and clutches the sketchbook closer when Bucky steps away. “Just come out whenever you’re done.” He tugs on Steve’s hair with a playful grimace on his way over to get on his boots and pick up his phone and watch from on top of the bookshelf. “You might be my sweetheart, but that doesn’t mean you don’t stink.” He’s exaggerating, but Steve still rolls his eyes and turns red. 

“Buck-“ He says, obviously working his way up to a complaint, but before he can, Bucky just blows him a kiss and walks out, shutting the door behind him. And now, they both have some space. 

Bucky takes advantage of his space this time sitting on the rock that the other Steve usually lounges on to watch him work. Which is exactly who he’s about to text, because maybe he should contact T’Challa- but as usual, Steve still comes first. It’ll be evening where he is if they haven’t moved, so Bucky hopes he’ll at least get a message or two back. He’s not sure how long the sketchbook is gonna preoccupy the kid inside. 

Better not to waste any time. He begins typing his message out, thankful Shuri tweaked his arm a few weeks back so that the screen can register the metal half of his hands. Typing one handed was a real bitch, but the message he sends now isn’t very long anyways. 

Hey. Everything is alright here but I just wanted to check in. You okay?

He wouldn’t blame Steve if he was freaking out. Bucky would freak out if he had a carbon copy of his old self running around. 

Surprisingly, Steve’s response comes back in only a few seconds. 

I’m fine. What about you? He being a handful like usual?

There’s that shield again, even over text. Bucky snorts and scratches his neck while he tries to figure out what to say. Is he okay? He would say he feels fine, although this experience is a bit exhausting on the emotions, not to mention hard to even comprehend on the brain. He may have been the one to first suggest time travel as the explanation, but that doesn’t mean it’s still hard to actually have to believe it. That second question is easy to answer, though. 

He’s no worse than you are, punk.

That’s only true in terms of being stubborn, but Bucky doesn’t want to say that. Steve already knows how low down he was back then, and saying something detrimental about him when that version is sitting right inside… it doesn’t feel right. That feels like he’s choosing sides. Which again, is weird to comprehend. They’re the same person, just at different points in life. 

Steve’s answer takes a little longer to come back this time, but when it does, it makes Bucky blink and shift his boots to scratch against the rough surface of the rock. 

He letting you take care of him?

That’s a bit of an odd question coming from a man who sometimes still has trouble letting Bucky take care of him himself. There’s irony there, but also maybe a chance for introspection. Bucky tries to type his response so fast, he’d probably fumble if not for the quality of his prosthetic’s grip. 

About as much as you do. 

Then, after a second, Bucky decides to add on something else. 

Seeing you like this makes me miss you even more.

It’s not a guilt trip. It’s just the truth, and it’s one the other man needs to hear. Just because he’s doing better than he once was doesn’t mean he’s completely okay. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t need a break. Bucky’s arm whirs while he waits for Steve to say something back. It takes a full five minutes this time.

And all it ends up being is a simple “I miss you too.”

Bucky sighs. That’s typical. Steve is a slippery little shit when it comes to this sort of thing, hence why yesterday his past counterpart tried to quite literally turn tail and run. He doesn’t know what he expected- but he definitely doesn’t expect the text that ends up coming next. 

You sleep with me yet?

“Jesus,” Bucky says out loud, ending in a slightly incredulous laugh. That’s a distractor if he’s ever seen one, especially from someone like Steve. He’s not a prude, but he sure isn’t usually so forward. Bucky shakes his head and snorts as he types. 

Why? You want all the sordid details? 

Then, because he doesn’t want to be dishonest-

No, I have not.

Steve takes even longer to reply this time, and Bucky wonders why until he reads what finally does come. He almost falls off his rock. 

I think you should.

And that’s it- Bucky might have terrible cell reception down here, but he can’t take the drawn out back and forth, so dialing Steve is a choice that doesn’t even require a second to make. Steve picks up in about the same amount of time, and Bucky doesn’t even pause to say hello. “Explain yourself.”

“Well, hello to you too.” Steve is trying to sound sarcastic, but Bucky can hear the embarrassment that’s simmering underneath.

He has no qualms about drawing it out. Steve dug himself this hole in the first place. “Are you really trying to whore me out to yourself?”

Steve huffs. “The me you have with you hasn’t exactly been around the block.” Neither has the Steve that Bucky is talking to, but that’s besides the point. “I’m just trying to tell you that when I said I trusted you, I meant it. It’s okay if you want to.” His voice gets softer as the shyness creeps in. “I understand.”

Bucky raises his eyebrow. “You do?” 

There’s a hint of hesitance in Steve’s tone, but there’s also honesty. “I can’t say I’m not gonna need you to remind me of a few things next time I see you, but… yeah, Buck. I do.” He sighs. “I’m not going to resent you for giving something that I know I really would have needed back then if you were able to be around. No one really touched me for years, Buck. I didn’t let them.” He gets even quieter. “But I’d let you.”

Bucky reflects on the night Steve actually talked to him about how he’d not let himself ever try to move on, then thinks about how the Steve inside soaks up every touch like a plant that needs more sun. He hadn’t meant anything serious by the dirty jokes, but he can’t lie and say he hasn’t thought about what Steve is saying. The Steve inside has been left alone for so long needing so much, and this is something that only Bucky is able to provide. Steve said he trusts Bucky to take care of him. Intimacy is one of the best ways that Bucky knows how, but it isn’t necessary. It isn’t always what Steve needs, or Bucky for that matter. 

But if in this case, Steve is to be believed… “You know that I love you,” Bucky murmurs, just to make sure. “More than anything. Right?”

Steve exhales hard, but Bucky can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks. “I do,” he says quietly. “And that’s how I know that you’ll always treat me right.”

Bucky closes his eyes. “Okay,” he eventually says. “Alright.” There’s a sense of calm that washes over him with the certainty of what he can and can’t do that makes him feel a little lighter. 

After that, they sit in the silence together for a minute or so, half a world apart but with their hearts in each other’s hands. Bucky soaks in the sun up above and wonders how the other Steve is doing inside with the sketchbook. Then, for transparency’s sake, he decides to tell Steve about letting him look. Steve doesn’t seem that scandalized, but he is a little surprised. 

“Oh,” he says. “I sorta was wondering where that one went. Nat had to get me a new one.” Sometimes Bucky thinks he’d forget his head if it wasn’t screwed on so tight. “You can tell him he can use it, if he wants. I wouldn’t mind.”

“I bet you just want to see if you still have the same skill,” Bucky teases. “It’s not a competition, you know.” That’s a joke, but it’s one Bucky purposely makes to lay down a point. It isn’t a competition, and Bucky definitely isn’t the prize. 

Steve groans and lets Bucky laugh at him a little, but after a few moments, sobers up and gets down to the business Bucky has been avoiding. “Have T’Challa and Shuri said anything?”

Bucky sighs and scuffs the heel of his boot in the dirt of the ground. “I actually have to talk to them after this and see, but so far, no news.”

“You should check, though.” Steve sounds like he knows Bucky has been using him to put it off. 

Bucky sighs again. “I should,” he agrees. 

Then, because every version of Steve Rogers is a little shit, Steve hums, says “I love you”, and promptly hangs up. Bucky is still staring at the phone in disbelief when he gets the text. 

Get to it, old man.

Huffing out a laugh and laying his phone down on his leg, Bucky finally does. He raises the wrist with his watch up and taps to see if Shuri will pick up. After a few moments, she does, and when she sees it’s him, she squints. 

“I told you I’d contact you, not the other way around,” she scolds, but she doesn’t really sound mad. In fact, she sounds a little happy. Bucky doesn’t have to spend too long wondering why. “But, now that you have, I have news.” Someone says something in Xhosa off screen that Bucky can’t understand, and Shuri rolls her eyes. “Fine. I will have news soon. By this afternoon, I think. We’ve had several breakthroughs regarding the matter we found and the anomaly that registered-“ She must see him growing vaguely concerned, because she clams up after and gives him a slightly too calm smile. “Stop worrying.”

“I’m not worrying.” That’s a lie, but it’s not one he expected her to believe anyways. 

She doesn’t. “I’ll contact you when we have something concrete. Okay? Now goodbye.” She hangs up on him too, and Bucky blinks. That seems to be becoming a popular trend. 

Luckily, the timing for it was right, at least in terms for how quickly after Steve steps outside. He’s quiet, but he doesn’t look upset. He actually appears a little at peace, which Bucky is glad for, even if he doesn’t know exactly why he looks that way. He doesn’t ask, and Steve doesn’t offer any answers about what he’d seen. He just walks closer and Bucky waits for him to speak. 

When he does, it’s low, but not nearly as small as he'd sounded for most of yesterday. “You still want to go for that swim?”

Bucky nods, watching him carefully. He stands. “Just let me go get a couple towels and some spare clothes and we can be on our way.”

When they do eventually start the walk, it’s with Steve following behind with a pencil and the sketchbook still in his hand.