“And he took her in his arms and kissed her under the sunlit sky, and he cared not that they stood high upon the walls in the sight of many.”
JRR Tolkien
The Soldier exhales. He pulls his hair back with a band on his right wrist. He steeples his fingers and rests them under his nose, contemplating. There must be a way to handle this tactfully. That’s what he’s good at, anyway; find the point of attack and grasp it, then break the neck of the enemy. This time the enemy is his own mind, which does not make this easy, but there is very little the Soldier has not been able to handle.
The Soldier needs to remember. There are four things he knows, and with these four facts he is going to remember everything, even if he has to pull it all out in the harshest way possible.
- His name is James Buchanan Barnes. He went by Bucky.
- He died in 1945 falling from a train.
- He was captured and tortured for seventy years and he has not aged more than a year or two.
- Steven Grant Rogers was his best friend.
There are other things that sit just under the surface, but those things are blurry and painful to pick at, and none of those things are concrete. He doesn’t know if he’s making them up or not. He thinks he nearly killed Rogers thirty six nights ago. He thinks that instead of killing him he saved him, though that is not certain because he knows that he shot Rogers in the gut three times. Rogers might be dead by now.
The Soldier doesn’t like that thought, that Rogers might be dead now. He shouldn’t really care one way or the other. He has no memories of the man, save one. He shouldn’t be bothered, but he is.
He grunts, pops a square of chocolate into his mouth, and laughs to himself. So maybe there are five things. 5. The Soldier really likes chocolate.
And just like that, he’s fourteen years old, Steve is thirteen, Becca Barnes is eleven, and they’re all sharing one chocolate milkshake in a diner, laughing.
Pain rips through the Soldier’s head. “Fuck,” he says, and he counts backwards from thirty. The pain passes. He had counted in Russian but cursed in English. He wants to chase the memory, but the pain had been fierce.
He gets up off the sofa and sits down on the floor. He opens the journal laying there, where he has a photo of Rogers taped onto the front page. He writes down details from the flash he had just gotten. Rogers had been very small. Becca had had a laugh like a crazed owl. Steve’s eyes were very blue.
Steve.
Not Rogers, but Steve. Little Stevie. Steviiiiiie. There’s a pain in his temple but it’s not quite so bad as the first time, because it doesn’t bring a full memory. Just a name.
Okay. Sure. Fine. He’ll just call him Steve. The Soldier reaches for a cigarette. He lights a match and when he does the lick of the flame ignites a fire in his head too. Because he recalls:
The fire is warm. For the first time in three weeks Bucky is alone. It’s late. He should put the fire out and head into his tent. Instead, he pulls out the zippo lighter he pulled off a man he shot in the head in France and lights up a cigarette.
He’s tired, but he’s always tired. He doesn’t think he ever won’t be now.
Steve is asleep in the tent they share. Special treatment, really, when it comes right down to it. Don’t separate the Captain and the Sergeant. They don’t like to be apart. It’s ridiculous, but Bucky has let it happen. Why not? He doesn’t like to be too far from Steve. It’s his kneejerk reaction to everything: keep Steve safe.
It’s not like Steve needs it anymore. Hell, Steve never really needed him. It’s Bucky that needs Steve. Always has, always will.
Bucky smokes half his cigarette and then puts it out on his boot heel. He tucks the other half behind his ear and goes towards the tree line to take a leak.
Bucky relieves himself and sighs. He zips himself back up and turns to go back to the fire. When he does, he sees Agent Carter leaning against a tree, arms folded across her chest.
“Jesus Carter, you trying to give me a heart attack sneaking up on me like that? And I’m not even decent.”
Her mouth twitches in the darkness. It’s almost a smile. It isn’t though.
“Can I talk to you? Please?”
“What’s it about? You finally gonna jump my bones now that we’re alone?”
Bucky shouldn’t talk to her like that. She’s his superior. But they stopped drawing lines in the sand a long time ago.
Now she really does smile. She laughs lightly and looks up at him with those big dark eyes that are both warm and fierce in the same breath.
“Now that is a good joke, Barnes.”
“I could be a comedian if we ever get outta this, I know.”
Carter reaches into her slacks and takes out a small flask. She’s wearing fitted trousers and a button down, with her hair pulled back off her face and neck. Her face is clean. She is prettiest like this, because Bucky knows this is how she is most comfortable.
“Drink,” she says, handing the flask out to Bucky. Bucky won’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but he doesn’t like where this is going. It’s a peace offering. There’s a catch.
Bucky takes the flask and unscrews the top. He takes a long drag. It’s scotch. It burns going down his throat and makes a heat rise in his cheeks. It won’t matter. Bucky hasn’t been able to get drunk unless he gets his hands on a whole bottle since he left the Hydra labs.
He hands it back over and Carter takes a drink. She pockets the flask and reaches into her front pockets, taking out a pack of cigarettes. She takes one out and gives it to Bucky. They’re Chesterfields. The men back home called ‘em bitch sticks. Lady cigarettes. It’s still a cigarette though.
Carter places one between her teeth and then lights Bucky’s before lighting her own.
“Thanks.”
“How are you?”
Bucky shrugs. “Fine, I guess.”
Carter lets out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, you know.”
“What for?”
There’s a beat. They both know what for. Bucky just really doesn’t want to talk about it. It’s not like it matters. Talking about it won’t make any difference.
“I. I didn’t know, when I met him. I swear I didn’t.” She sounds like she’s having a hard time finding the right words, which is very rare.
“Didn’t know what?” Bucky spits. He puts the cigarette to his lips and finds his hand is shaking.
“Why are you playing dumb? It’s not a good look on you. I’m trying, James.”
“Why are you playin’ dumb?”
“I’m not playing at anything. I want to talk about it. You deserve that at least.”
“Well what if I don’t wanna fuckin’ talk about it? There’s nothing to say. Nothing to discuss.”
“That’s hardly the case.” Carter puts a hand to his temple. “He belongs to you, and I’m caught in the middle.”
Bucky laughs. He really laughs. It’s hysterical.
“What’s so funny?”
“He doesn’t belong to me. He never did, and he especially doesn’t now. He’s yours. I’ve seen how he looks at you with those baby blue eyes he’s got, all lovesick. He’s never looked at me like that, and he never will. He shouldn’t.”
“You’re right. That’s not how he looks at you. He looks at you and he’s…certain.”
“Of what?”
“Of everything under the sun.” She takes a drag off her cigarette and puts a hand to her temple. “He loves us both and it’s going to kill him.”
“No no no no no.” Bucky shakes his head. “You got the wrong idea.”
“Just because you won’t entertain the idea doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
“So what the fuck do you want me to do about it? Even if it were true. It doesn’t matter. How do you not get that?”
“I want you to tell him!” Carter says. She immediately puts two fingers to her lips. Her face scrunches up and for a terrible beat, Bucky thinks she’s going to cry. She takes a breath in, and it becomes a gasp.
Bucky raises his eyebrows. He scoffs. “That will never, ever happen.”
“Why not?!” Carter demands. “He should know! He should have you! Please.”
“I ain’t ruinin’ his life. I can’t believe you would even suggest that.” Bucky feels anger begin to pool in his gut. “You got real balls comin’ to me saying something like that. What a fuckin’ joke.”
“People like you and Steve are not alone in this world. There are men and women like you everywhere. You could have a life together. You could.”
“That’s not the kind of life he deserves. He should not have to keep himself half hidden. He’d never manage it anyhow.”
“James, there is nothing he would not do for you.”
“Yeah,” Bucky says simply. “I know. And I’d do anything for him. Which is why I want you to have him. I mean Jesus, it’s not hard to love him. And just look at him. You’d be stupid not to fall all over yourself for a guy who looks like that, come on.”
“That’s just cruel,” Carter says. “You know I don’t want him for that. I liked him even when I could look him in the eye without craning my neck, and you bloody well know it. There is no one like him.”
“Fuck you, I know it. Which is why it’s so much worse.”
“I said I was sorry. I said I didn’t know.” Her voice comes out sharp.
“What the fuck do you want me to say? Like I said, it’s not hard to love him. Easiest thing in the world.”
“I just want to give him the choice. He should have the choice.”
“Listen. He’s not mine to give but just take him, okay? Just have him. I’ve already made my peace with it.”
“I just don’t think you understand. I think we’ll be going home soon and he should go home with you, if that’s what he wants. You don’t believe that he loves you but he does.” Her teeth are bared, pearly white in the dark. She pauses to finish her cigarette. “I kissed him.”
“Good for you.”
“Shut up. I kissed him and he kissed me back but he looked away after.”
“And that means he loves me?”
“Yes.”
“Peggy, I’m done here. I’m absolving you of all of it, if that’s what you need. I even forgive you. That doesn’t mean that I can like you, but it’s not your fault. He’d be dumber than rocks not to want you. So just take it. That’s all I can give.”
“This isn’t right.”
“It doesn’t. Matter.”
Peggy wipes at her eyes. She walks over to Bucky and puts a hand to his face. Her palm is warm and soft. Bucky shuts his eyes and leans into her touch.
Peggy gets on her toes and kisses Bucky’s mouth. It’s her way of trying to say she cares about him, and it’s sweet, really. It’s quick, over so fast it could have not happened at all.
Bucky pulls her close. He sneaks an arm around her waist and kisses Peggy again, hard. She goes stiff against him. He doesn’t know why he does it, but he pulls her closer still. He deepens the kiss, feeling heavy and numb. Maybe he does it because he thinks there might be some of Steve lingering there. Maybe he wants to know how Steve felt, pressing his mouth to hers. Maybe he wants to make Steve jealous, though he knows Steve will remain oblivious. Maybe he just wants to make her as angry as he is.
When he pulls away, Peggy’s eyes are open. She watches him with hard eyes. Her mouth falls open a little. The fire crackles nearby, the light from it too far away to bring any light or warmth anymore.
Peggy slaps Bucky so hard he moans immediately at the pain.
“Guess I deserved that,” Bucky says, voice coming out rough.
Peggy turns on her heel and leaves Bucky at the tree line, never turning back.
The pain is too much. The Soldier passes out on the floor, left side twitching in pain.
/
The Soldier wakes up and his room is pitch black. He groans in the darkness. His head hurts so fuckin’ bad. He stumbles around until he finds the light switch. He finds the journal on the floor and almost falls over and brains himself on the coffee table lunging for it. He writes down the memory that feels like a fever dream. There’s a throbbing as he recalls how Carter tasted like whiskey and smoke and how her hair had smelled real, real nice. Apparently he’d been a real piece of work, to be treating a lady like that, but the anger in the memory had trumped all reason and moral.
He drinks water. He smokes two cigarettes. The Soldier laughs stupidly as he reads his own words back. What the fuck had Rogers been to him? He should really, really find out if that little shit is still alive. He’ll feel better if he knows for sure that he’s alive, because if he keeps going down this rabbit hole and finds something he’d rather not know, only to find that he’d killed the stubborn fucker after the fact, it’ll all hurt a hell of a lot more.
He doesn’t want to steal, but he doesn’t see another option. He leaves his little room and goes into the city. He takes a phone from a woman too distracted by the eyes of her lover to notice. There’s a lock on it, but it’s a sequence of numbers that is not difficult to decipher from the smudges on the screen. He uses the phone to search news on Captain America. He had healed up after two weeks. The relief is immediate, but the Soldier’s head pounds because there are so many photos of Steve, and each one makes his stomach pull together and cramp. Steve Rogers is beautiful, and it seems like Bucky has always known that, the more he looks. There’s even one photo of Steve and himself. Bucky almost throws the phone across his little room, fear and confusion gripping him in equal measure.
He eats breakfasts of little packs of crackers and cookies. Eating is a luxury he’s getting used to again. He smokes, and writes in the journal, willing the memories to come back. It isn’t until after two days of nothing that he recalls:
“I’m not having this fight again. Didn’t you get enough of me last time?” Bucky asks.
“You were angry, so you wanted to make me angry too. I still don’t hate you, in case that was what you were hoping for,” Carter says, tucking a hair behind her ear. Her hair is perfectly curled as always, and her lipstick is pristine. It’s hateful.
“You’re a fuckin’ piece of work. Won’t you just leave it?”
They both look down at the map. The pencil in Bucky’s hand shakes.
“I’m not doing this for my own peace of mind you know. That’s why I can’t leave it.”
“It’s my call to make. I won’t do that to him.”
“Oh, you won’t burden him with knowing he’s loved. That makes sense.”
“You know it isn’t that simple.”
“Let me ask you a question though. Just one.”
“Fine.” Bucky grinds his teeth, frustration and fear clawing in his stomach.
“If he had never made it out here. If Erskine had never found him, and he was waiting for you to get back. When you got back, would you tell him?”
“No,” Bucky answers immediately.
“After all of this you wouldn’t? At seeing his face for the first time in years you wouldn’t?”
Bucky imagines it, going home to see Steve still small and excited to see him. It does something funny to his heart, picturing it. He pictures sitting with Steve in that shitty apartment and kissing him stupid, holding his bony hips under his palms. Not like he hasn’t thought about it before. Bucky huffs out a breath. He feels like crying.
“I never--” Bucky begins, and then Steve walks into the tent.
Carter whips her head up, sharp as anything. Bucky looks up at Steve from where he sits. Steve is newly shaven. His mouth is pink. His eyes narrow at both of them.
“I’m sick of this,” Steve snaps.
“What are you talking about?” Carter asks, crossing her legs.
“You two. Talking over my head. Hiding shit like I don’t already know what’s goin’ on.”
Bucky’s heart drops into his stomach. The bile rises. “What do you think is going on pal?”
“I’ve seen you arguing, away from camp. You stop talking when I walk in the room. I’m not stupid, I know you’re together.”
Bucky laughs. It probably comes off mean but it’s a legitimately amusing idea. Him and Carter, together. It’s so funny.
“You’ve seen us arguing so we must be in love. Really Steven?” Carter says, cool as anything.
Bucky thinks of how often he and Steve have fought, argued like cats and dogs, gettin’ in each other’s faces until both their faces turned red.
“Just wish you would have told me, I’ve been making a fool of myself, I know.”
“Steve, knock it off. We aren’t together you fucking dumbass,” Bucky says, finally starting to control the laughter bubbling out of his chest.
“You don’t have to lie to me,” Steve starts.
“Steven, he isn’t lying. Sergeant Barnes does not have any interest for me that way in the slightest. He’s rather preoccupied.”
“Carter!” Bucky snarls out. She turns to face him, cocking an eyebrow as if to say if you won’t tell him I will.
“What the hell is going on?” Steve asks desperately.
“Nothing is going on. I need some fuckin’ air.”
Bucky stands and walks past Steve. He leaves the tent. Let Carter deal with Steve. It’s her fault this is getting so complicated anyway.
But Steve grabs onto Bucky’s shoulder and with his horrible strength whips Bucky back around to face him.
“What ain’t you tellin’ me? You’ve never lied to me before,” Steve says.
Bucky rolls his eyes. He’s lied to Steve so many times he’s lost track. Not because he ever wanted to, but because he had to.
“I’ll tell you tonight okay? After debrief.” Bucky lets his eyes fall on Carter. “I’ll tell him tonight.”
Her face goes soft. “Good.”
Bucky leaves the tent.
The Soldier opens his eyes and the pain is blinding, but he doesn’t black out this time. Instead, he follows the pain and chases the memory. He struggles against the fire in his head. He grinds his teeth and grunts, then lets more of the wash over him. He remembers:
That night, Steve sits down next to Bucky near the campfire.
“Fine night, ain’t it Captain?” Bucky says, lighting up a cigarette.
“You doin’ okay Buck?”
“Peachy keen, buttercup.”
“You’re mad at me.”
“No. I’m not mad at you Steve.”
“You said you would talk, so talk.”
Bucky has chosen his words carefully. He’s concocted the only lie he thinks Steve would believe, one that will keep Steve off his back. It’s not even a lie, really. More like a distraction.
“Carter was being a little over the top when she said I was preoccupied. She was referring to you.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s been wanting me to tell you what happened to me at that Hydra base you pulled me from, when you first found me. I’ve been downplaying it, I guess.”
“The nightmares,” Steve confirms.
“Yeah.”
“What did they do to you, Buck?” Steve sounds so sad.
“The nightmares are nothing. They made me forget things, Steve.”
“Wh…what do you mean?”
“There are things I don’t remember about you, anymore. I didn’t want you to know.”
“What don’t you remember?” Steve sounds scared now. Bucky shouldn’t have told him.
“Like, I know that in the summer of ’37 you broke your arm. I know you learned how to draw with your left hand after that. But I don’t remember you wearing a sling or a cast.”
The Soldier screams. The pain is unbearable. He may as well be strapped to the table again. His head hits the floor. He does not know how much time he loses.
/
When the Soldier wakes he immediately goes to the freezer and takes out a bottle of vodka. It’s the good stuff. He thinks he used to drink it with Natalia. Sometimes they were rewarded for good behavior. He can’t remember her face but he remembers her red hair, moving like flame.
It takes him a while, and nearly half the bottle, but he starts to feel drunk for the first time in seventy years, which makes him recall:
Bucky charms a bottle of ten year old scotch out of the barmaid and sits outside in the dirt, trying to get drunk. It’s almost like he can’t get enough of sitting in dirt and rock.
Bucky unscrews the top of the bottle and takes four long drags from the neck of it. It burns and he thinks if he drinks quick enough he has a shot at getting drunk.
He sits alone for a while, the sounds from the bar drifting softly over him. He leans against the bark of a tree and feels his fists unclench. He relaxes for the first time in a very long time, the ability to be alone bringing on a wave of relief.
He was able to sit in solitude for a brief hour, getting a nice buzz going after drinking about a third of the bottle over the span of forty minutes. If he kept this up, he might actually feel well and truly drunk, which fuck, does he need desperately. He lights up a cigarette and starts to feel normal since the first time he saw Steve all huge and mighty. He shuts his eyes and thinks that a smile might have started to form on is lips.
It’s all real nice, until the unmistakable footsteps of a certain Captain come trailing up from behind. Bucky sighs and picks up the bottle again, taking a long pull.
“What are you doing out here all by yourself?” Steve asks, and sits down next to Bucky. Bucky shakes his head.
“I was having a nice night till I got tracked down.” He turns to Steve. There are those worried lines around Steve’s mouth. Bucky rolls his eyes. “Hey pal. Care to join me?” Bucky hands the bottle out to Steve.
Steve takes a drink. It won’t do anything, but Steve likes to take a sip or two sometimes, just to pretend.
“Were you planning on finishing this all by yourself?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. What’s it matter?”
“I’d like to be warned if I have to carry you to bed,” Steve says, joking, but the thought of Steve putting Bucky to bed does something funny to Bucky’s chest. He finds the thought fond and terrible at once. Then, it wouldn’t be the first time that Steve has swung an arm around Bucky, trying to keep him upright as he drunkenly stumbled home.
“I’m fine Stevie, no carrying necessary,” Bucky says, letting the old nickname slip out of his mouth. He’s feeling the whiskey more than he thought.
“That’s good Buck. Wouldn’t that be a sight? Me luggin’ you over my shoulder.”
“The tables would be turned, that’s for sure.”
Steve grins, lopsided and adorable. For a minute Bucky lets himself think they’re back in Brooklyn. He guesses with Steve, Bucky is always in Brooklyn. He’s always home.
Steve clears his throat and rests his head on Bucky’s shoulder. It feels a little awkward and shy in a way they haven’t been in over a decade.
Bucky tentatively lifts a hand and runs his fingers through Steve’s fine hair. It’s soft and smooth. He feels like he shouldn’t be able to do this, with his love overflowing and spilling over.
Steve lifts his head and turns to look at Bucky. He’s so close, closer than he’s maybe ever been.
“Hey Buck?” Steve whispers.
“What?” Bucky asks, laughing a little because his heart is hammering.
Steve leans in just that fraction further, and then kisses Bucky.
It’s very soft and chaste. Bucky exhales. It’s everything he’s been holding in since he left for basic, maybe longer. He surprises himself by not whimpering, not making any sound at all, and just kissing back.
Steve’s mouth opens a fraction. He’s so warm and gentle the way he opens up for Bucky. Bucky feels when Steve starts smiling, his lips pulling up as he leans into Bucky. Christ, that’s sweet.
Then, Bucky gets a hold of himself. He shoves Steve’s shoulder and scrambles away.
“Bucky?” Steve asks, very small.
Bucky stands up and sways, the liquor hitting him in full. “What the fuck are you doing, Steve?”
Steve’s eyes are huge and his face is dark purple, blushing hard in the dark. He says nothing. He just stares at Bucky from the ground.
“You’re really not gonna say anything? Get the fuck up,” Bucky spits.
Steve does. He brushes the dirt and grass off his knees and then stands at eye level to Bucky.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Steve’s voice is hardly above a whisper. “I thought. I was obviously mistaken.”
“That was not a fuckin’ mistake,” Bucky says, pointing at Steve. He’s so angry. Why won’t Steve just do the right thing and be with Carter? He just can’t stop putting himself in danger.
Steve swallows. “No. It wasn’t.”
“You’re such a stupid fucking asshole. You can’t do shit like that. You cannot do that.”
“You didn’t seem so sore about it a minute ago.”
“You caught me off guard. Get the fuck out of here. Go back inside. Go find your girl. I’m not talking to you right now.”
“Seriously?” Steve puts his hands on his hips. He’s turning all Captain Asshole, which Bucky really, really can’t do right now.
“Seriously what, Steve?”
“Are you seriously acting like there’s nothing happening here?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m acting like, because there’s nothing going on.”
Steve barrels forward and kisses Bucky again, this time hard and needy. He holds Bucky in place but Bucky wiggles one hand free and decks Steve as hard as he can.
It can’t possibly actually hurt. Steve is impossibly strong and can kill a man with one punch. Still, he stumbles back and wipes he blood from his mouth. He spits and narrows his eyes at Bucky.
“I’m in love with you, you dick. I’m not sorry about that.”
Bucky almost throws up everything in his stomach. Instead he bites the inside of his cheek and then blurts out what he’s been thinkin’ for a long, long time.
“You’re so worried about doing the right thing you never worry about doing the smart thing. Quit it with the noble bullshit and quit trying to get both of us killed. You’re so in love with me? It doesn’t matter. It does not make a difference.”
“That means nothing to you?”
Bucky looks at the ground. “It doesn’t.”
“You’re a fucking coward.”
“Good call.”
When the Soldier opens his eyes his body is numb. He can’t seem to stop crying.
/
Eventually, the Soldier must get up. He has to move. He’s sore from lying still so long, and on the hardwood floor no less. He gets up and stretches. He moves like Natalia once did, long and elegant, bending himself in half to relax his muscles. When he realizes he remembers Natalia’s face he also realizes he remembers training her and that makes him feel terribly old. He is fucking old.
He makes himself eat. He makes pasta. He eats lots of apples. He eats more chocolate bars.
He does not know what to do with the information his head has provided. Really just…fuck. Fucking fuck. And all the swearing reminds him that Becca used to get on his case for cursing too much. So did his Ma. So did Steve. And all that remembering makes his head hurt, just a constant dull ache, sometimes deeper and more intense than others, depending on the memory. It’s all bubbling up, and it’s making him crazy. He’s already crazy. He laughs alone in his room with a cigarette dangling between his lips, laughing alone like a fucking maniac.
Then the nightmares come.
A little boy and his mother in Germany. A woman with dark eyes in France who had yanked out a chunk of the Soldier’s hair before he had snapped her neck. A man with a bullet between his eyes, hair covered in snow.
Then older ones. Much older ones. From when he was a soldier the first time. He wakes crying and screaming after each fitful hour of sleep he manages. He almost wishes he didn’t remember any of it.
And then the Soldier’s mind finds Steve again, buried underneath it all.
Bucky avoids Steve for days because looking at him hurts. He never thought just looking at Steve could hurt like this but Christ, it does. It’s agony, to know Steve’s heart like this. It’s agony to know that Carter was right.
To Steve’s credit, he doesn’t try any shit again. He gives Bucky his space. He sticks to his sketchbooks and takes to working on his aim with the help of the other Howlies.
Carter shares cigarettes with Bucky while she discusses tactics. She’s distracting him, like she knows what happened. Hell, she probably does know. Steve probably told her everything. That, or it’s just written all over Bucky’s face. He’s glad she doesn’t mention it though. He doesn’t think he could look her in the eye if she said it out loud. It isn’t until weeks later, when he still hasn’t said a word to Steve and when he’s feeling just shy of completely losing his shit that he does blurt out “You told him.”
“Yes,” Carter replies, not even looking up from the map she’s studying.
“I’ll never forgive you.”
“Quite right, too.”
It’s the only time they speak of it.
Just outside of Bamberg, Steve corners him again.
In the dark, in his tent, Bucky tries to pretend to sleep, but Steve knows him best.
“You ever gonna talk to me again?”
Bucky opens his eyes and it’s so dark he can’t see his own hand in front of his face, but he knows Steve is sitting just inches away.
“Guess I don’t have a choice,” Bucky mutters into the pitch black.
“I don’t know what to say to make it right,” Steve says. “I just want my friend.”
“I’m still your friend. I’ll never not be your friend,” Bucky says into his arm he’s been using as a pillow.
“I’ve been thinkin’ about what you said. About how I’d get both of us killed. I didn’t. I didn’t ever mean it like that. I never want to do anything that would put you in harm’s way. It was selfish. I know that. I knew that. And I didn’t think about it at all, I just. I thought we could be good. I’m sorry. I fucked up.”
Bucky’s chest contracts so sharply. His eyes sting. He chokes on a breath. “Christ, Steve.”
“You know, you’ve been taking care of me for so long Buck. I just keep taking from you and I thought I’d just take some more, huh? What a lousy best friend you got stuck with.” Steve’s voice shakes as he speaks, and Bucky thinks it’s the first time he’s heard Steve say anything without complete conviction.
Bucky waits a beat. He weighs his next words carefully. “My whole life I’ve just wanted to be more like you.”
Steve laughs without humor. “I could say the same thing about you.”
Bucky reaches out in the darkness and finds Steve’s kneecap. He runs his thumb over it. “I didn’t mean it.”
“I know.”
“I love you real bad. It’s the only thing I know for sure.”
Steve lets out a broken sound, a pretty thing that Bucky has fantasized about only when he’s been half asleep, when the world has been quiet and dark, not unlike it is now.
Minutes pass. Bucky’s heart hammers wild. “Stevie, please say something.”
“Honey, I can’t.” Steve’s hand finds Bucky’s. He locks their fingers together. Bucky wishes he could see it.
“Okay. Then don’t say anything. Lay down with me.”
Slowly, Steve settles his body down next to Bucky’s. He lies chest to chest against him. Bucky can hear Steve’s heart pound, like when he was little and it would beat sick and hard.
“Take what’s left, Steve. It’s yours anyway,” Bucky says, so quiet he can’t be sure he’s said it at all.
The Soldier vomits onto the floor. He shakes.
Hydra took the rest of the memory. He doesn’t know what comes next. He doesn’t think he could take it anyhow.
/
Bucky knows that Steve must be looking for him. Bucky thinks he wants to find Steve too. He thinks he knows where to find him. He wants to go, but he doesn’t know what he’d even say. He thinks of Steve Roger’s face, covered in blood and dripping with water, breathing shallow on a riverbank. Bucky thinks he loved Steve even then, before he recalled his own name or Steve’s.
Bucky goes to Brooklyn, trying not to imagine how he’ll be caught or recognized. The city brings back other memories, of nights in dance halls and pretty, young girls and things he did with them that he doesn’t regret but feels guilty about, not because what they were doing was wrong but because he didn’t ever seem to feel all that strongly about it. It brings back the smell of freshly baked bread and loud family dinners, all the kids running around making a racket while Ma stood in the kitchen, up to her elbows in flour. His head hurts so fuckin’ bad.
Steve is hiding in plain sight. He’s dressing like men did back in the day, in long wool coats and button up shirts. He only goes to a few shops. He goes to the same damn shop to get his groceries as he did in ’41, and Bucky laughs about it, because he knows why Steve’s doing it. He’s hoping Bucky will see him and something will spark. He doesn’t want Bucky to be startled by the sight of him, as if all the fast cars and bright colors aren’t too much of a culture shock already.
Poor Steve, doesn’t realize Bucky’s been used to all this since the ‘80s. It’s so sweet of him to try though.
The sun is high over Brooklyn when he follows Steve back to what used to be their apartment. It’s still an apartment complex, just even more run down than when they lived there, as if that could somehow be possible. It was torn down, rebuilt, and worn down again. It’s been seven decades after all. Steve sits out on the fire escape, legs dangling. He gets out his sketchbook. Bucky stands out on the road, watching him. Steve eventually looks down. Bucky raises his metal hand, hidden by a leather glove. He waves slow. The sketchbook falls four stories and onto the sidewalk. Bucky swallows.
Steve scrambles to his feet. “Bucky?” He calls down, squinting his eyes trying to confirm that it really is Bucky.
Bucky wants to stay. He really does. But upon seeing Steve in person, he becomes cold with fear. He’s ashamed, and worried, and he might vomit again. He bolts.
He runs as fast and as hard as he can, like shrapnel is falling and he can smell burnt bodies again. He knows Steve is following because he can hear him calling after him. He imagines that Steve probably just dropped the four stories down, right next to his sketchbook, refusing to lose sight of Bucky.
Bucky charges left, then right, then right again. He goes down an alley and contemplates hiding in the trash. Fuck Captain America and his insane speed. They’re both super soldiers now, but it’s been proven that Steve is still stronger. Bucky had just been less feeling, and that isn’t the case anymore.
“Buck?”
Bucky turns. His hair falls in his eyes. He pushes it out of his face, his palm sweaty and shaky.
“I knew you remembered me. I knew.”
“I…” Bucky stammers. He looks for a way out.
“You don’t gotta run. Please.”
He looks Steve in the eye. His head pounds. He only has one way out of this corner. He pulls the knife from his boot, and charges forward at Steve.
Steve takes a step back, and Bucky presses the knife to his throat.
“Don’t follow me, please. I’m not ready.”
Steve nods. Bucky runs.
/
It feels juvenile, but Bucky can’t think of another option. He waits until Steve is out and climbs up the fire escape. He leaves a note with his phone number attached. Or rather, the phone number of the woman whose phone he stole two months back. It makes him feel small and silly, but he doesn’t think he can face Steve again. Not yet. He needs time. He doesn’t feel all that dignified when he leaves the slip of paper on Steve’s drawing desk but he thinks this is the best approach. No more knives to any more throats.
Bucky stays in an abandoned warehouse on the north side of Brooklyn, growing cold but enjoying the silence.
Around nine pm his phone rings. It’s pathetic how quickly he answers, hardly waiting past the first ring.
“Hello?” Bucky answers, voice rough. He’s breathless, and Steve hasn’t even said a word.
“Is that really you?” Steve asks, and a laugh pours out through the phone. Bucky realizes he’s smiling at the sound.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Nice note. Couldn’t just come up to the apartment, huh?”
“Apparently not,” Bucky says, and rolls his eyes. This guy is such a smart ass.
“Well, I could come to you?” Steve asks, all hopeful. Bucky can just see the big blue puppy eyes. It’s annoying that he feels like he knows this man so well yet can barely recall how they met.
“Please don’t.”
“Did I scare you last time?” Steve asks, the worry in his voice all spread out. All that worry over a man who held a knife to his throat two days ago.
“Yes, but not in the way you think.”
“I won’t chase you again, I promise. That was stupid. I never should have done that. I was just so happy to see you.”
“Happy? I nearly killed you last time I saw you. You should be dead, actually.”
“You weren’t yourself.”
Bucky scoffs. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“God,” Steve whispers. Is that really you?” He laughs like the insane. It reminds Bucky of himself.
“Yeah,” Bucky grunts out. The pain is starting again. It’s Steve’s voice. It’s making more memories bubble up. Eating hot dogs on the pier. Family dinners. His baby sister on Steve’s lap. It’s crushing.
“Please, say something else. Anything at all.”
“What do you want me to say?” Bucky asks, then clenches his teeth.
“You obviously have something to say, you’re the one who left your number after breaking into my apartment,” Steve says, already getting hot headed.
“Our apartment. That’s our apartment. You know what, you stubborn little shit, I’m going through a lot right now just having this conversation,” Bucky hisses. “Don’t get smart with me already.”
Steve belts out a laugh, which makes Bucky’s stomach turn over, but it’s such a nice sound. It sounds like warmth and comfort and everything else a boy might need to survive.
“Buck,” Steve says through his laughter, but it goes cold and Bucky realizes with a start that the laughing is turning into a wet gasp.
“Rogers?”
“It’s really you. It really is. It’s so good to hear your voice, you’ve no idea.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you sad,” Bucky says, his breath slowly returning as the pain subsides.
“You didn’t. You made me happy. So happy, honey.”
Bucky grips the phone. He thinks about Steve calling him honey in the darkness. He thinks about how he still can’t remember what happened next, after Steve laid down with him. He thinks Steve must have touched him, but he still doesn’t know for certain. He wants to know for certain.
“Stevie?” Bucky asks, daring to use the old nickname that used to make Steve’s mouth go soft.
Steve inhales sharply. He sounds like he’s been running for miles the way he pants into the phone. “Yeah?”
“Can I come home?”
It falls out of his mouth, surprising him. He’s scared, but he wants to know what it was like. To be with Steve.
“I can come get you now, wherever you are. I’ll come get you and bring you home.”
“No, I’ll come to you. In the morning. Give me a few hours. I need to try to remember something.”
Bucky hangs up.
/
Bucky lays on his back in the cold. He tries four times. He can feel Steve’s warmth in the darkness of the tent. He can hear him saying honey then Buck, all raw. Each time he tries to gather more the pain fills him up so entirely he gags onto the concrete. On the fifth try he gets a kiss pressed to his cheek but then he passes out for a little over an hour.
He cries. He can’t manage it. The sun is coming up.
/
Bucky gets to his feet. He feels like shit, like death warmed over. He needs water. He needs food. But first, he needs to see Steve.
Bucky knocks twice. The door opens, and Steve’s baby blues greet him. He tilts his head and smiles faintly. “Hey Buck.”
“Hey,” Bucky says, hands shoved in his pockets. Then, just because he can, “You sure about that haircut?”
Steve laughs and his eyes crinkle. His nose scrunches up. “You sure about yours?”
Bucky snorts out a laugh. He runs a hand through his long hair. He licks his lips. “You got any food?”
Steve makes breakfast. He makes everything he’s got. Eggs, potatoes, bacon, and pancakes. He makes coffee and pours Bucky a big glass of orange juice. It’s all delicious. Bucky eats too much too fast. He licks syrup off his fingers and Steve just watches with a smug, fond smile on his face.
“When did you learn to cook?” Bucky wonders out loud, sipping his coffee.
“Sam said it was embarrassing that I could manage to burn a bowl of cereal. So he made me learn.”
“Sam?”
“Yeah. The guy who’s car you destroyed. Ripped the steering wheel right out.”
“Oh. Him.”
Steve chuckles. “Yeah. Him.”
“Well tell him thanks. It’s a big improvement. I distinctly recall you nearly burning down the apartment on more than one occasion.”
“So, you do remember.”
“It comes and goes,” Bucky says gruffly. “It hurts like hell trying to remember most of the time.”
“What do you mean?” Steve’s face is already pulling together in worry.
“I mean it fucking kills my head. I had to work real hard to remember most things. Don’t look at me all guilty like that,” Bucky says, pointing one of his metal fingers right under Steve’s nose.
“Sorry.” Steve raises his hands in surrender.
“Can I smoke?” Bucky asks, patting his jacket for his pack of smokes.
“Sure.”
He lights up, hands shaky.
“You’ve been waiting for me.”
“Yeah. At first I tried to track you down but, then I figured you wouldn’t appreciate that. Then the longer I waited, I guess I sort of thought you hated me.”
“Hated you? Why?”
“Because I knew you remembered me, but didn’t want to see me. I thought maybe too much time had passed. Thought you weren’t interested in starting over.”
“How did you know I’d remembered you?”
“You pulled me from the river.”
“Maybe I was just feeling really generous that day.”
“I saw the look in your eyes. You couldn’t kill me.”
“I’m gonna try again if you don’t quit waxing poetic.”
“I’m just saying, you know me. And I missed you,” Steve says, voice raw and close to going.
“Okay, so I do know you. But I don’t know myself.”
“Well then I know you,” Steve insists.
“You used to, maybe, a hundred years ago.” His tone is biting, he can hear it, and it’s almost enough to make him feel guilty about biting Steve’s head off when he’s being so fucking tender about all of it, but he needs Steve to understand.
“Maybe you’re right. Just wish you would give me the opportunity to find out.”
“Why’re you even so concerned?” Bucky asks, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth. “You know I killed people right? Innocent people. A lot of them.”
“I don’t care,” Steve replies, as if Bucky had just admitted that taken up knitting in his spare time. “You were my life, Buck! I don’t care!”
He’s just sitting there, leaning back in his chair, like he doesn’t have a care in the world, and Bucky is so fucking angry he wants to ram his fist through a wall.
“Don’t you dare say shit like that! I was not your life! Carter loved you to pieces, all I wanted was for you to marry her and have a bunch of little blond idiots running around, and you had to throw that away, God only knows why, you were just so fucking stupid. You were supposed to die an old man in your bed, surrounded by family. Or hell, you should’ve went and gotten together with Lizzy Tompkins, with her stupid fuckin’ red curls while I was an ocean away getting shot at. She thought you hung the moon. You could’ve been with her, had a nice quiet life with those scrawny shoulders of yours, never would’ve even seen a stray bullet. But you just couldn’t leave well enough alone.”
Bucky breathes heavy, panting over the kitchen table, cigarette between his fingers forgotten.
Steve leans forward on his elbows, eyes boring into Bucky.
“God dammit, I told you. A week before I lost you, in the dark, in that tent, I fucking told you, Bucky. You’re it for me. You always were. No matter what life we lived, it was always gonna be you.”
Bucky feels like he’s been slapped.
“I don’t. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky says, very quiet.
“Oh, God,” Steve breathes. “You don’t remember, do you?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m making a complete ass out of myself. I really thought…” Steve trails off, and puts the back of his hand to his mouth, like he feels sick. “You don’t know about us.” Steve groans softly. He looks back to Bucky with glassy eyes. “I’ve been so stupid.”
“No,” Bucky whispers. “No, baby, you haven’t.”
They watch each other. Confusion clouds Steve’s face.
“You gotta talk to me Barnes.”
Bucky stubs out his cigarette and swallows hard.
“I tried so hard to remember, but they wiped me fuckin’ clean. They made sure that I was all weapon, but they knew my memories and they knew my heart. They knew my heart.”
“Christ,” Steve whispers.
“I can’t remember that night, out of everything else, so it must have been pretty important. I know that I just kept wishing I could see your stupid face. I know I was more scared then than I ever was out on the battlefield. I’m sorry. I tried so hard, but I can’t get it back. It just hurts so much.”
Steve keeps his eyes on the table when he speaks next. “Do you want me to tell you about it?” His cheeks turn bright pink.
Bucky bites the inside of his cheek. Then he nods. “Please.”
Steve sighs. “I went into your tent. We’d been fighting, do you remember that?”
“Yeah. I remember that. You kissed me so I socked you.”
Steve laughs. “Right. So, I went to your tent. I wanted to make it right. I tried to apologize. I just wanted my friend and you said you’d always be my friend. Then you said you loved me and, I don’t know, I think I died right on the spot.” He blushes harder, face going red.
“I remember that part. What comes after you lay down next to me?”
Steve’s blush creeps down his neck. “Um. I held you. In the dark. And that’s when I told you that you were it. That whether it was this life or some other, it was always you.” Steve shrugs. “I kissed you for a long, long time. I would’ve been fine with the world ending right then.”
“Did we--?” Bucky asks, watching Steve’s ears turn redder than a ripe tomato. It’s real cute, how scandalized he is.
Steve laughs lightly. He’s still looking at the table. “Almost. I could… Aw, geez Buck.”
“What is it? Please, I wanna know.” Bucky smiles. It almost feels cruel. He needs to know, and if it means he gets to watch Steve stammer and squirm through it, well he won’t complain.
“I was holding you, we were so close, and I could feel. I could feel that you wanted me. But we didn’t. We couldn’t. You said if we did you wouldn’t be able to k-to keep quiet.”
Bucky giggles, and Steve looks up from across the table.
“Please tell me you don’t remember and didn’t just make me say all that because you thought it’d be funny.”
“No, sweetheart, I don’t remember. I’m sorry. You’re just so cute when you’re embarrassed.”
“Fuck you, Barnes,” Steve says, laughing along with Bucky.
“I’m sorry I’m laughing. I just. I thought I couldn’t remember our first time. It sounds nice though. I wish I could remember all that kissing.”
“Maybe if we kiss again it would jog your memory.”
Bucky laughs, all his anxiety melting away. “You’re no good at flirting Rogers, quit while you’re ahead.”
“God, I hate you so much Buck,” Steve sighs, shaking his head.
“No you don’t. You love me.”
“Yeah. I really, really do. Just looking at you. I missed you, you jerk.”
“Punk,” Bucky says, and then it feels like he’s hit with a ton of bricks because now he remembers that nickname too.
Steve gasps softly, and then is out of his chair and standing in front of Bucky in an instant. He takes Bucky’s face in his hands and kisses him.
Bucky whimpers, half in surprise and half in relief. He puts his hands on Steve’s hips, one metal and one flesh. He feels Steve smile into the kiss, and Bucky follows suit. He lets himself kiss back. There’s no pounding in his head. There’s no cramp in his stomach. There’s just little Stevie, gorgeous as ever.
Steve pulls away slowly, still holding Bucky’s head in his hands like it’s something precious.
“Sorry,” Steve says, “I just couldn’t wait anymore.”
“Guess it’s a good thing we have all the time in the world then,” Bucky replies, and pulls Steve back down to him, making sure to commit this to memory.
I don't want to fight you
And I don't want to sleep in the dirt
We'll get the drinks in
So I'll get to thinking of her
Fine Line, Harry Styles