Chapter 10
James hated him. He truly hated him; every time he would so much as look at the man, he would be met with a furious snarl and glare. Sometimes he thought that the only reason he hadn’t killed him was because Rogers was confining him to the makeshift bed they had made. That and the pain rendered him unconscious for the majority of the day. His body needed to heal, and it needed sleep to do that.
“He’s scared and in pain,” Rogers consoled uncomfortably, days, maybe even weeks later, after James had screamed himself hoarse at him when he had accidentally called him Dear Heart; he had been too tired to censor himself, and too used to the endearment to keep it from slipping out as the stars hung high in the navy blanket of the sky, the small fire he had made for them crackling. It was so reminiscent of that night, that he had wanted to cry. He didn’t though, because Stark men were iron and they most certainly did not cry in company. No, he would have to stop being so weak and pull himself together. Burden the consequences of his actions, as he had always tried to do. He deserved James’ hate, he reminded himself, clutching at his arms. He deserved it and more.
So, to distract himself from his self pity, he had offered to fetch more firewood, commenting that “James, dear heart, I fear you shall catch a chill; you look so cold.”
James had simply exploded, a messy, spewing ball of hate and fury; like an angry cat. If he had claws, Tony had no doubt that his face would ve in ribbons after that. His words were vicious and sharp, and had wounded Tony deeply- far deeper than anyone else could. Though, he supposed, that’s what happened when Anthony Stark allowed himself to fall in love and believe he could ever deserve happiness.
“He doesn’t mean it, Stark.”
Tony laughed, humourless and brittle. “Yes he does. And it’s true.” He shrugged. “It’s all true. He hates me, rightfully so. I ruined him, Rogers. Ruined him.”
Rogers clenched his jaw, but remained silent.
And how curious it was, for Rogers to attempt to offer him comfort. Before thismess Rogers was more likely to slit his throat than smile at him, but now here he was, Rogers’ hand on his shoulder in an offer of comfort.
“I’m a bad, bad man,” he confided softly into the night, keeping his eyes fixed above him.
“No, Stark, you’re not," he denied slowly, with great reluctance. "Everything you’ve done is to make him happy, to save him. Even when you knew that it would drive him to hate you. That’s not what a bad man would do.”
Tony smiled sadly. “One act of selflessness does not clean out a lifetime’s worth of selfishness and ignorance,” he reminded him. “I think I’m close to finding a way off this island,” he changed the subject. “I just hope that he might start to heal when he’s no longer burdened with my presence,” he sighed, suddenly weighed down with a weariness so great it made his very bones feel leaden.
“His memories are already starting to return,” Rogers reminded him. “Once he remembers you, once he remembers how he loved you, he’ll forgive you, and I fear he shan’t leave your side.” He tried to lift Stark’s spirits, but could see when he failed. Chest heaving in a great sigh, he moved his hand, large and warm, to the nape of Tony’s neck, rubbing gently. “Get some sleep,” he ordered gently. “I’ll talk to him.”
His feelings towards Stark had shifted in the recent events; seeing Anthony Stark, the real one… it made him doubt himself, his passionate dislike for the man. It left him conflicted, made him want to give the man the break he deserved from Bucky’s anger, and yet a part of him wanted him far away from his childhood sweetheart.
Everything was so confusing.
It was later that night when he made his way over to Bucky.
“The Bucky I knew would never be this cruel,” he noted, crossing his arms, leaning against a tree as he stared down Bucky’s lying form.
A snort. “I’m not that man anymore,” came the miserable response. “Sometimes I’m unsure if I’m even a man anymore- I’m not even whole.”
Steve sighed. “Buck,” he said firmly. “I love you. I do, but I can’t watch you do this anymore.”
Bucky grumbled. “I’m not doing anything,” he protested, glaring at the blond. “I’m just trying to figure myself out.”
“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes and I love you. That’s what I always wanted to tell you, all I thought made the world turn. But,” he sat by Bucky’s head, carding a hand through his hair gently. “There’s a man who loves you with everything he is. And he sacrificed that to save your life.” At Bucky’s glare he rolled his eyes. “I’m not guilting you into anything,” he continued, “But you need to stop being so cruel to him, its destroying him. Be angry with him, but don’t hate him.” His hand paused. “You used to love him.”
Bucky scowled. “I don’t remember. I don’t care.” He batted away Steve’s hand. “Just leave me alone, Steve. Just… leave me alone.”
“No, Buck, I won’t because I know you. You may not remember, but I know you’re still the same man. And I know that you hate how angry, how scared you are, so you’re taking it out on Tony because it’s easier. You’d rather hate him than yourself. You’d rather be angry and full of hate than scared.”
Bucky’s silence was agreement enough, and Steve nodded, crossing his arms. “You need to stop, Buck. You’ll never heal if you don’t accept what’s happened, if you don’t at least try to let yourself admit how you feel. You need to stop lashing out because it’s not healthy, its not productive, and its only making everything worse.”
Bucky scowled. “Shut. Up.”
“No, Buck-”
“Piss off!” Bucky bellowed. “I don’t need to listen to you! I barely know you! All I know is that I knew you Before! I don’t care what you think, so leave me alone!”
Steve sighed, standing up as he ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “Just… think about what I’m saying, before you push him away for good, because I know you’ll regret it. Your mind might not remember loving him, but I know your body does.” He crouched, tapping Bucky’s temple gently. “Your mind will catch up eventually, and when it does, you’re going to regret not listening to me. He doesn’t deserve this.”
“Shut up.”
“Just sleep on it, alright? You’re angry and scared, and you’re lashing out. I’ve seen it before- we’ve seen it before, and I know how destructive it can be, how much you can lose because of it. You’ve lost your arm, but you’ll lose your future if you don’t stop this.”He straightened, stepping away and sitting by the fire they had made, looking up to the sky.
“Why are you so cruel?” He asked softly. “You create such horrors, and when a good man tries to do something to fix it, you punish him so cruelly? You destroy the one good thing he has? How can that be right?”
The silence of the night, interrupted only by the crackling of the fire, turned heavy and deafening.
“Why?”
As much as Bucky teased him about never being able to admit when he was wrong, Steve could. When he truly was wrong, and he knew it, he would admit it. He didn’t like it- hated it, in fact- but could admit it.
And, now, he could admit that he had been wrong about Stark. The Anthony Stark he thought he knew, the man he hated so passionately, was not the man he had come to know on the island, and he admitted that to the man himself.
“Stark.”
He looked up at him, eyes dead and sunken. He barely ate or slept any more, driven with a single-minded focus to get them off the island. All so that Bucky wouldn’t have to suffer his presence any longer. It made something in Steve twinge, heart ache sympathetically. Bucky had, unfortunately, not listened to Steve that night, and it was taking its toll on Stark.
“I was wrong, you know.” He sat next to the man, nudging him with his shoulder good naturedly, handing him a piece of meat from the animal they had managed to catch for supper that night. “About you,” he clarified at Stark’s quizzical look. “When I first met you, what I said, what I thought, it was wrong, all of it.” He swallowed, watching as Stark tore into the meat, obviously ravenous. God, when had he last eaten? “I never apologised for it, and for that I’m sorry.” He sighed, leaning back on his hands and gazing upwards at the canopy of trees above them. “I’m sorry about a lot of things. About what I said to you, how I believed what other people said about you, about ending up here, Bucky losing his arm, you suffering his anger.” He bit his lip. “I’m so sorry, Stark. You’re a good man, and I’m sorry it took us getting stranded on an island for me to see it.”
The man had worked tirelessly, had taken the brunt of Bucky’s anger and fear without complaint, had taken Steve’s hate without hate. He didn’t deserve it.
He felt Stark shrug. “It is what it is,” he hummed, “But thank you. I appreciate your apology.”
Steve looked to him, smiling softly. “I think I’d like it if you’d call me Steven,” he admitted. “I feel like we’ve become friends these past few weeks. Thrust into this mess together… perhaps there was no other outcome but to become your friend. To see you.”
Stark returned his smile, and this time, it even reached his eyes. “Then I would like you to call me Anthony.” He covered one of Steve’s hands with his own, and despite everything, Steve felt his heart race at the contact. “I am glad to call you a friend. You’re a good man, Steve. You’ve been so kind to me, here.” His eyes, turning sad, flicked to where Bucky lay staring at the sky, steadfastly ignoring them. “I know you’ve tried to talk to him, and I thank you for that.”
Steve sighed, chest heaving with the effort. “He won’t listen to me. Still doesn’t properly remember me. His memories… they’re still foggy, out of reach. It scares him, I think, almost as much as losing his arm has. He’s scared and angry, and he’s taking it out on you so he doesn’t have to be.” He made a frustrated sound. “It’s not right, and I’m sorry. He’ll come around, though. He’ll calm down and learn to love you again.” For some reason he felt the need to comfort St- Tony. Needed to assure him that he’d be okay. “But even if he doesn’t? You’ll have me to stand by your side. You’re both my friends, and I’ll do what I can to fix this between you.”
Tony smiled sadly. “I don’t think this can be fixed,” he admitted. “But…” He looked down to his hands, interlaced. “You still love him?” When Steve hesitated, his lips morphed into a wry twist. “He… he deserves to be loved. Needs it, I think. Needs to be reminded of his value, of his worth. You can do that, Steve, I know you can, and I know you want to.” He shrugged, and Steve swallowed, mouth suddenly dry because it was true. “You shouldn’t let… this get between the two of you.” He smiled reassuringly at Steve, a weak thing that barely disguised the pain in his eyes. “You deserve each other, you’re meant to be together, so be together.”
“But- what about you? You could watch him love another man? Me?”
Tony pursed his lips, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. “There are two things I have found that bring me happiness, bring me purpose. One is The Vendicatore; as long as she sails the seas, liberates slaves, will be happy and content. The other is James,” he admitted softly, glancing towards the man in question. “All I need is for him to be happy, safe.” His eyes lifted to meet Steve’s, honest and true. “It’s irrelevant if it is I that makes him happy or not.” He sighed. Steve made a noise, choked and shocked; but of course Tony would do this, would push Steve towards Bucky, because he was Tony and he was fundamentally selfless and self-sacrificing.
“Besides. What we had… this between us? It’s beyond repair.” A single tear traced his cheek, and he swiped at it, annoyed. “Not unless he-” His eyes widened, struck with a realisation.
Steve tilted his head. “Tony?”
“He needs his arm back,” he breathed, clutching Steve’s hand tightly. “That’s it! I need to give him his arm back! When he gets it back, he’ll be able to heal, he’ll be okay!”
Steve frowned. “Tony… we buried his arm. You can’t give it back to him- it’ll have rotted by now.”
“I’m not just a pirate, Steve. Don’t you see? I build things- all those weapons you heard of? I made them! If I can make him an arm…” His eyes went distant, no doubt sketching out the plans in his mind. “I can make a contraption that will act as his arm.”
Steve blinked. “That’s great, Tony. He’ll be so pleased.”
He might even let go of his anger, might forgive Tony.
Tony beamed, lighting up like the sun poking through gray clouds. “I hope so, but even if he isn’t, it doesn’t matter. I can give him back what I took, and that’s all I want.”
Steve didn’t know what to say to that, so he contented himself with patting the man’s hand.
He truly was as marvelous as Bucky made him out to be, if he could pull this off.
A flash of awe and admiration burned bright in his chest, mingling with the respect that had slowly been building for the pirate.
Incredible.
“Stevie?”
The mumble, thick with fatigue, sent something warm and fond through Steve’s chest as he sat next to Bucky, carding a hand through his hair. “Hey, you,” he greeted, “How are you feeling?”
Bucky pulled a face, grumbling. “Like I got the Devil at my throat,” he admitted. “Hurts real bad, Stevie.”
Steve smiled sympathetically, hand not ceasing in its motions. “Tony thinks he can use some of the plants to make something to help,” he suggested. “Might help you sleep better.” Bucky had been sleeping a lot, but it he could never fall into a deep sleep, and he woke often to the agony.
Bucky scowled. “I’m not taking anything of his. He’s done enough.” His tone hardened, from something soft and sleepy to hard as rock.
Steve sighed, shaking his head slightly. “Buck, we’ve talked about this,” he chastised gently, knowing Bucky would swiftly become defensive and turn his aggression towards him if he scolded him. “Just… let him help. He’s hurting, Buck. He loves you and just wants to help. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there? And there’s no shame in accepting his help.”
Bucky shook his head, adamant. God, he looked so pale in the late afternoon light; he needed a good night’s sleep to help him heal. He was just too stubborn for his own good, Steve thought wryly. Not that he had any stones to throw, he admitted to himself. He could be just as stubborn, but it was just about the most frustrating thing he’d had the misfortune to experience. “And I told you; I don’t love him,” he said, jaw jutting slightly. “I love you,” he admitted quietly, probably not expecting Steve to hear, but he did. He did, and it made him close his eyes against the want and love and protective possessiveness that crashed into him at the confession, nearly knocking him over.
“Buck…”
“No, Steve, you don’t understand! I love you- I don’t even know him! All I know is that he took everything from me, and expects me to love him?” He spat, eyes flashing dangerously. “That’s bullshit, Steve, and you know it. So if you’re here to get me to forgive him? Piss of. Piss off, okay? Because I can’t and I won’t. I won’t.” His temp of the rise and fall of his chest was increasing as his anger and frustration settled, riling him up. “I love you, and I know you love me so why won’t you let me?” His eyes turned pleading as he managed to sit himself up, “Stevie, why won’t you let me?”
Steve opened his mouth uselessly, not knowing what to say, what he even could say. Bucky couldn’t remember, so he couldn’t, as much as he wanted to. He couldn’t- it wouldn’t be right. He’d be taking advantage, using Bucky’s amnesia and ignorance of his love for Tony for his selfish gain, no matter what Tony said, and his brain was whirling, trying to come up with something to say, some way to explain, when it stuttered to a screeching halt when he felt lips, soft and warm, on his own.
Distantly, he recognised the choked, desperate sound as his own, but he didn’t care because nothing mattered. Nothing but the feeling of Bucky’s lips on his own, the way his tongue nudged at him, seeking entrance, the sweet taste of him, the way it felt like coming home. It felt like home, comfort, security and love all wrapped up in one. Warmth, a bolt of lightning, shot through Steve, reducing him to weakness and desire.
He couldn’t stop if he wanted to.
(And he didn’t- God strike him down, he didn’t. Consequences be damned. He’d waited so long.)
(How could anything that felt so good, so right, be bad? All doubts, all reasoning had flown out of his mind the second Bucky’s lips touched his own.)
He might be crying, he didn’t know. All he knew was that it felt so right, so good, and that it had been such a long time coming. He had waited so long.
“Come on, Stevie, you can’t tell me you don’t want to after that,” Bucky murmured against his lips when he drew away, touching his forehead to Steve’s.
Steve blinked, mind reeling. “Damnit,” he sighed, closing his eyes. “You might be right,” he admitted, laughing wetly. “God, Buck. I-”
“Shh,” he hushed, hand moving to cup Steve’s cheek as he kneeled before Steve. “See? There’s nothing stopping us, sweet Steven.”
Steve blinked rapidly, overwhelmed by the joy, the happiness, and the dread and regret battling within his gut. He bit his lip. “Okay,” he whispered. Tony… Tony had given his blessing. Had thought it what Bucky needed, wanted. He could trust that, at least, if he couldn’t trust himself. “Okay, Buck.”
Bucky’s answering smile was blinding; as bright and warm as the sun.
“Swe- James?”
Tony approached the man, curled up beside Steve, cautiously. “Are you awake?” He asked, pitching his voice low and soft. It felt like he was approaching a skittish animal, not the person he loved most. If he wasn’t holding himself together with a stubbornness only possessed by a Stark, he would have cried at the thought. He cleared his throat, “I have poultice for you. It should help with the pain.”
Silence, filled with a tension so thick Tony felt he could probably cut through it with his dagger, before, finally, “Bring it here, then.”
Tony released a breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding, so relieved. Bucky was finally letting him help. “Alright,” he agreed, creeping forward so as not to wake Steve, whose form, legs tangled with James’, he pointedly ignored because he could feel himself balancing on a knife’s edge, and the sight of that, no matter what he said to Steve, would send him tumbling over the edge. He brought the crushed plants, pasted on a flat rock he had managed to find, to James, hesitating. “Would you like me to apply it for you?”
“No.”
Tony smiled sadly, not expecting any other answer. “Of course,” he acquiesced, placing the rock by James’ right arm. “If you change your mind…”
“I won’t.”
“Right. Of course.” Feeling more than a little awkward, Tony nodded, straightening. “Well, then. Sleep well,” he offered, carefully stepping around them and back to the other side of their nightly fire to where his own makeshift bed of leaves lay. “I’ll just be over here,” he muttered to himself.
That night he lay on his back, staring at the stars until his eyes because too heavy to keep open, remembering that night. If he stayed perfectly still, he could almost pretend James, his James, was by his side, beaming and holding his hand. Full of love and joy.
He wished with everything he had that he could make him that happy again.
Even if only for a second.