Chapter 5
Every day that passed without Bucky by his side was pure agony; it leeched more and more out of him until he was barely a husk. Hollow and paper-thin.
“Steve.”
Natasha’s voice snapped him out of his melancholy, drawing his attention toward her so that he was stood, blinking at her. “Natasha?”
“I received a letter. I wager you would have received on, also, but James is a smart lad and doubtless knew that your would be hounding me here.” She passed it along to him, as if she hadn’t just rocked his entire word with a simple sentence.
James.
James, his James, his Bucky, had sent a letter. A letter.
He was alive, free enough to communicate.
With a choked sound, Steve opened the folded piece of paper, eyes roaming over its surface, drinking in the words.
Stevie,
Stevie, my dear old friend, my Captain, it has regretfully been many long, long days since I saw you last, and I have missed you every second of each one. I long for your company, for the warmth of your embrace. I miss you so much my friend, and I find myself beyond impatient for the day we might reune.
I did send a letter to your home, but I thought it best to send another to Natasha. I know you well enough to guess you to be hounding her to help you search for me- if it were me in your position, she would be my first port of call. Doubtless your anxieties of my wellbeing are at a peak, and so first thing is first, my friend:
I am safe. I am okay.
I am onboard The Vendicatore, with Captain Anthony Stark, headed for England. He saved me, Stevie. Pulled me right out of Hell’s clutches on that Godforsaken ship headed God-knows where and kept me safe. Kept me sane.
You’d love him, you really would. He’s wild. A true spitfire, stubborn enough to rival you. Smart as a whip, too, with a mind that never stops. I owe him my life. He’s beautiful. I wager that you shall want nothing more than to draw him when you meet, Stevie. ‘Bout the most beautiful thing I have had the fortune of bearing witness, besides yourself.
I write this as I sit here, at the Great Southern Continent, praying that you head swiftly to London’s waters to greet us, so that I may once again see your face again as I feared I would never would. She’ll be flying a ruby and navy flag, should you need to identify us from the traders. Though, that shan’t be too hard-a job, what with her unique, smaller size. You’ll know her when you see her, should you reach London first. On those long, dark days, it was the thought of you that got me through, dear friend, and so I find myself riddled with anxiety at the prospect of our reunion, scared for your reaction at seeing the man I have become.
But still I hope to see you. That you will join me on Captain Stark’s ship, on our quest to cull the beast that has plagued our society for too long, unchecked and disgracefully accepted. I long to see The Patriot on the Thames’ waters, in all her glory. She would no doubt be the most majestic ship it ever saw. With you at her Helm.
After England we sail for the Middle Passage to intercept a Slaver. And after that, another. And another, until no more of Hydra’s ships remain. Until their power is obliterated and none shall share my pain. Stark, Tony, he insists I call him, knows my pain. He speaks little of it, but he carries a pain I can’t help but relate to. A kindred soul. ‘Tis why he has made it his mission to eliminate slavery. A tall goal, one I fear unreacheable, but I find myself unable to refuse to join his attempts. You’re a good man, Stevie, and I know that you see what good we are doing. I hope you find it within yourself to join us.
Please, Stevie. I find the pain of our separation to be unbearable, but I cannot turn down the chance to do what it right.
I have written and written, but no letter I have crafted seems quite right, so I must content myself with this final one, no matter. I have never been adept at articulating myself, as you well know, so you must forgive my briefness.
I also find myself unable to withhold this confession any longer. The fear that you may not return my affections cannot withhold my words any longer: I love you. I have for as long as I remember, and all those times I thought I may die I could not bare the thought that you would not know. So I must tell you. I must. Steven Grant Rogers, I love you. But I also love Tony, more than I ever thought possible. I know that my feelings for you are not returned, and I have come to accept that, but I need you to know.
A man, wiser in the moment than I ever gave him credit for, said, essentially, that I am a fool to be constrained by a society that rejects and tortures me, and so I find myself unable to subdue my greed. I want you, just as I want Tony. I know in my heart that you cannot say yes to such a foolish wish, but I dream of a day where we may all be together.
With hope and love,
Bucky
It was all Steve could do not to break down with tears of joy. “He’s okay.” He sounded shocked, even to his own ears, voice hoarse and full of emotion. “Natasha, he's okay and he wants me to meet him in London.” He bit his lip as he reread Bucky’s confession. He loved him. He loved him. The joy that brought was overwhelming- God knows how long Steve carried a secret love for his best friend-, only dampered by this Tony. Steve furrowed his brow slightly. Bucky wanted the both of them? He shook his head slightly, shaking off his worries; he would deal with that when the time came. For now, it was important to focus on the fact that he was alive.
Natasha beamed, stepping closer and running a hand through his short hair. It was a comfort she had started to give since the day he collapsed at her feet, and he was unbearably grateful for her steadfast support. “That's excellent news, Steven. My heart is truly lightened to hear it.”
She looked him in the eyes, taking in how watery they were, how tired. James’ absence had taken a grave toll on him.
“Get some rest and we'll leave in the morning.” When he looked like he was about to protest, she sent him her sharpest glare. “Rest.”
He sighed, reluctantly conceding. “Alright, fine. I'll rest.”
Bucky would understand.
Try as he might, Steve couldn't seem to fall asleep. He was exhausted, no denying it, so he should have been out as soon as his head touched the pillow, like the candles he put out every night.
But tonight he just couldn't. His mind was racing, thinking of Bucky, of all the things that could have happened to him, what he could have suffered. And Tony. The thought of this man that had claimed his best friend’s- and the love of his life, if he were to be honest- heart brought a slightly bitter taste to his mouth. How could he compete with the man that had saved Bucky?
He sighed, rolling over and thumping his pillow, mind returning to Bucky.
He was scared, because for the first time his mind wandered to the realm of ‘what if’. What if Bucky had died? The thought alone made his eyes water as his mind ran wild, fantasising. He’d be alone. Never able to talk to him again, see his smirk, get his hair ruffled with an affectionate ‘lout’ thrown at him. Never get to tell, to show, Bucky how much he loved him.
That was what terrified him the most. Bucky never finding out how Steve felt, missing out on what they could have been. He shuddered at the thought. Its okay, he told himself. He’s alive and he loves you too. Somehow he loves you too. The thought brought a slightly goofy grin to his face, as only love can do.
Steve closed his eyes, still smiling. His love for Bucky had only grown since his capturing, becoming more and more impossible to deny. The man was everything to him, and he couldn’t function, couldn’t live without him.
There was no doubt within his mind about going to London to meet Bucky: no force on Earth could stop him. None.
Hold on, Bucky, I’m coming.
I promise.
It was a week before Steve made it to London, and another before he received word from Bucky that they were a week away.
It was torture.
It physically pained him to be separated from Bucky now that he knew he was out there. That he was on his way to him. The anticipation drew each day out that he spent in London, each hour seeming infinitely, impossibly longer than he’d imagined an hour could become.
Each day was spent restlessly roaming the streets of London, walking along the canals, through Hyde Park; anywhere. It was cool enough to be brisk and leave him rosy cheeked and fascinated with the way his breath came out like a dragon’s fiery breath. Childish, but he had always held a childlike wonder within him towards the world. Bucky said it was what made him such a great artist; his ability to see the good and wonder despite what he had seen. The bloodshed, the famine. The suffering. The world was an ugly place, but it was also beautiful.
The majority of his time, however, was spent by the Thames, standing by Westminster Bridge, eyes never ceasing in their search for a ship carrying the ruby and navy flag of The Vendicatore.
It felt like forever before they were finally reunited.
It was a gray, gloomy day (when wasn’t it, in good old London?), the rainfall gentle and soothing as it pattered down on the bustling city, not slowing it down for a moment. Steve was sat on a small section of grass that was the least muddy he could find, watching the ships pass through the bridge.
One
by
one.
But none with a ruby and navy flag.
Not until-
“Steve!” A man, hanging over the side of a ship- small but elegant, with a sharp bow that Steve could imagine slicing through the ocean as effortless as walking through air- waving a ruby and navy flag, waving, laughing.
Ruby and navy.
Bucky.
It was Bucky.
He was finally here.
There was tears. A lot of them. In fact, Steve struggled to remember a time when he cried as much as he did when he finally- finally- got his arms around Bucky. Nose buried in his hair, longer than when he saw him last, he found himself unable to stop sobbing. Or able to release his friend. His love. “Bucky,” he breathed, unable to keep his voice even and free from the emotions that overwhelmed him. “Bucky you’re here.” He made an awful, wet sound that would usually have embarrassed him- effeminate as his shocking display of emotion was, and for the world to see, as well!- but he didn’t care. Not when it was Bucky he was embracing, when it was Bucky who made a similar, horrid sound and tightened his own arms around Steve.
“Steve,” he heard him cry, as emotionally loaded as Steve felt. “Steve, God, but I’ve missed you.”
Steve could only squeeze the slightly smaller man closer to him, closing his eyes and basking in his presence. The scent that was Bucky. “I’ve missed you dearly, Bucky. More than I ever thought a man could.”
Bucky let loose a wet laugh. “Me as well, I fear. By the Lord, Steve, look at you.” He ran a hand over Steve’s face, feeling the beard he had grown in his period of melancholy, running a gentle thumb over the bags he knew were under his eyes, proof of his exhaustion. Of his grief. “Oh, Steve, it’s okay. I’m here now,” he soothed gently, smiling.
Steve was helpless in the face of such beauty- he truly was. He was but a man, after all! And a man was capable of resistance in the face of temptation for only so long, and Steve was a weak, weak man when it came to one James “Bucky” Barnes.
So, he felt he could not accept blame when he brought his lips to Bucky’s.
Was it not his fault if the Lord made the Devil so much stronger than man?
Steve’s lips were as soft as he had imagined. Kissing him was like awakening; soft, warm, gentle. It was one of the loveliest experiences James had ever had, and he was soaring on his joy.
“Steve,” he moaned, breathless, resting their foreheads together. “Steve, man, God.” Even to his own ears he sounded wrecked. And just from a single kiss.
Steve sounded as equally breathless when he spoke, much to James’ relief. “Bucky, I’m so sorry, so sorry, please forgive me. I did not mean to be so… bold, and when you have your pirate captain, too. Lord forgive me, I-”
Bucky laughed. “Oh, Steve, you were always so kind. I am shocked, I admit, at your boldness, but… I am glad. I love you, I love you.” He smiled again, something small and wondrous, as he looked at Steve, stepping away slightly. “Tony knows I love you, and he still loves me.” His smile turned fond. “We should all converse- I simply cannot wait for you to meet him, I just know that you shall love him as much as I- about it, but I need you to know that Tony has given his blessing for me to be with both of you, if you find yourself agreeable.”
It all came out so rushed that it took a few seconds for Steve’s brain to register what Bucky had bombarded him with. Blinking slowly, he reached for the man’s hand. Bucky looked so nervous, but hesitant hopeful. “That… ‘tis not done,” Steve finally managed, cautiously. The last thing he wanted to do was upset Bucky- he had just gotten him back!- but the idea of Bucky sharing them both was… so deviant.
Bucky shrugged. “I find myself unable to care about what a society as cruel as ours thinks these days.” It was soft, but Steve still flinched.
“I… I am hesitant to say anything quite yet,” he said, finding himself apologetic. “Come now, let us not spoil this joyous moment. Show me this ship and captain you have told me about,” he made himself sound more confident than he felt, shoving back all of his thoughts and feelings on that matter, instead allowing Bucky to tug him along towards The Vendicatore.
“She’s amazing,” Bucky was saying. “Truly awesome, Stevie.”
Steve nodded absently, making a noncommittal noise as they made their way aboard.
“James! Pray tell, is this the Steve that I have heard so much about?” The voice, oddly smooth and rich for a sailor, pulled Steve from his absent mindedness and directed his attention to its owner. Steve found himself blinking, shocked at the beauty of the man: he was small, wiry and lithe in a way that suggested power, not weakness, with a deliciously olive tanned skin and long, slender fingers and hair that curled by his ears. His smile- as radiant as the man himself- was large and genuine, accompanied by a crinkling of the eyes that Steve couldn’t help but find endearing.
“Aye, indeed it is, Tones,” Bucky confirmed, sending the man a smile of his own.
Oh. oh.
Tones, Bucky had called him. Tony. This was the Tony Bucky had found himself loving.
Steve couldn't say he blamed him; for a pirate, he was beautiful. But… he had heard of what Anthony Stark did, had heard of the lives he claimed with his sword and weapons while he was in London. He was bad, rotten. He did not deserve Bucky’s love. Not one bit of it.
Steve noticed the man’s eyes drop slightly to where he was still holding Bucky’s hand, but the man remained polite, and his smile only became slightly strained. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain,” Tony greeted, making his way towards them and offering Steve his hand. “Might I inquire as to whether or not you plan to stay a while with our crew?”
Steve hesitated as he shook his hand, feeling the hard calluses that spoke of hard work and character. His sharp, artists eye that had served him well as a Naval Captain also noticed several scars on the man’s hand and wrist, creeping up to where his sleeve covered. “I plan to stay as long as Bucky does,” he said firmly.
Tony raised an eyebrow, shooting a curious glance to Bucky. “Bucky? Why, James, I fear you’ve been holding out on me!”
Bucky huffed in amusement. “It’s a long story.”
Tony just smiled. “Please, join me in my chambers. I think we have much to discuss.”
Steve nodded, still holding Bucky’s hand as he followed the smaller man. Indeed they did.