Deepest Secret Nobody Knows

Steve didn’t want to be at work, it all seemed so pointless. Why should he bother going about his day to day when he had just learned that it was all a lie? Whose life was this? Who was the one who got to decide who he was playing? Was this personality even his own or was it someone’s creation? He was glad Kamala wasn’t working until later in the day, he wasn’t sure he could face her this morning. Was she in on all of it? How many people surrounded him each day that knew about his past and had to pretend that he was Steve Rogers: Art school graduate and poetry enthusiast? It all felt like too much for him to handle.

It was still an hour to go until it was time to open the shop; he could hardly sleep last night so he decided to go into work early and work on a new window display. It was two days ago now that he had woken up in Sam’s apartment, he hasn’t had a restful sleep since then. His curious and impatient mind was keeping him awake for impossible lengths of time. He hasn’t seen or even caught a glimpse of James since he was last in the shop. Was he expecting Steve to hunt down some answers before making another appearance? Even though Sam had explained everything to the best of his ability, about the Army and about the Nomad project, it still didn’t feel like it had happened to him. It was someone else’s life completely. Even with all the secrets surrounding his military service and the services that he provided to S.H.I.E.L.D., those weren’t the answers that he was looking to explore further. He wanted to know about his childhood, his mother and what life was like back before the War; he wanted to know about James. How they were as kids, games they played, how he was as a teenager and how they navigated adulthood in the 1930’s and 1940’s. He could read about it all in books, but he wanted to know how they did it through James’ recollections.

Steve continued to hang banners up in the shops windows, making sure everything was level and looking good for potential customers, he was trying to get the corner of the banner to catch onto the hook when he was momentarily blinded by a light shining in his eyes. He looked out into the early morning traffic outside the shop; his eyes scanning everywhere to find the source, though he already knew who it was. Finally, he saw James. Across the street, casually leaning against the brick wall of the alleyway next to his coffee shop. He wore his usual navy coat and had a baseball cap pulled down, shielding his eyes from Steve. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, so Steve could spot the gleam of his metal hand peeking out from his sleeve. Steve couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him; part of him knew that James wasn’t going anywhere but he hadn’t seen him in days and that caused his overactive imagination to play with him in cruel ways. Steve motioned with his head, a nod in James’ direction and pointing towards the back of the shop. He hoped that James would understand that Steve wanted him to come around to the back of the building to be let into the shop. James made what could be interpreted as a smirk and started to walk around the block, so Steve assumed that he did. Steve climbed out of the window display and moved through the shop to get to the back entrance.

He stopped into the small bathroom quickly, standing in front of the mirror he gave himself a once over. He knew it was completely superficial, but he couldn’t help himself. He fixed the collar of his cowl neck sweater and smoothed his hair down with his lean fingers. James made him nervous, it wasn’t something that could be helped. He recognized the attractiveness of James; no amount of memory erasing experiments could change that. His dreams didn’t help, though the man’s face still wasn’t completely in focus to his mind’s eye, the blue of his eyes was familiar. His stomach fluttered just thinking about them. He went over to the back door and waited to see if James would show up. Sure enough, a minute later there was a gentle knock at the door.

That endless flutter was ever present when Steve opened the door and their eyes met. James looked stern as always, as if he was always seconds away from making an escape; something in his eyes burned bright. There was a spark alight that Steve didn’t remember seeing before. Wordlessly, Steve opened the door further, so James could come inside. He closed the door behind him and latched the lock. The backroom was small, a desk off to one side; covered in stacks of paper and books. The walls were lined with boxes that were filled with more books, waiting to grace the shelves. This left little room to stand together without feeling like they were practically on top of each other. James was usually excellent at hiding his emotions on his face but being this close to Steve, caused a flush to wrap from the back of his neck to his clavicles. All he had to do was tip his head down and Steve was right there. Both easily recognized the nervousness present in each other them and they struggled to hide their blushes from each other. Someone had to break and speak first, Steve decided it may as well be him. He cleared his throat and James gave him his undivided attention.

“Those photographs you leave for me…did you take them?” Steve thought it was an easy place to start, he didn’t know how many more deep explanations of his past his fragile mind could try and process. James just nodded, stepping off to the side a bit, towards the hall that led into the store front. Steve followed behind him, watching intently as James’ metal fingers traced across the spine of books; so gently that they hardly moved beneath him.

“Some of them. I was hoping that just looking at them would trigger some memories for you.” He looked at the items that were sprawled across the counter where Steve spent most of his time. iPhone, headphones and what looked like a leather-bound journal sat on the counter top, a well-worn backpack sat haphazardly on the ground beside his stool. James wondered if his gentle touch would leave an impression on the leather. “Do you remember anything?” James asked, the first hint in his voice of hopefulness. He looked back towards Steve, who stood at attention in the doorway. He arms crossed as he leaned against the bannister. He shook his head; James did his best to shield his disappointment from his face, but it seemed that Steve noticed anyway; he spoke quickly to try and smooth the situation.

“But, I believe you and I believe Sam. He wouldn’t lie to me about something like this. To think I voluntarily erased my own memories…erased you. It all seems- “

“Crazy?” James finished. He leaned against the counter, mimicking Steve’s posture. Steve smiled and walked further into the room. He needed to distract his hands, their natural pull was towards James and Steve didn’t want to confuse himself more by adding another variable. He went to his favorite table in the entire shop, right beside the counter; his banned books display. It had it all, Fahrenheit 451, the Harry Potter series, Animal Farm and his favorite, lesser known books; The Gulag Archipelago and Candide. He couldn’t control his hands, he started fiddling with the books on display and the overflow that was underneath the table; James just watched him patiently. After a while of quiet companionship, Steve straightened up on his feet and looked back at James. He had needed the quiet, thousands of thoughts were swimming through his mind and he needed time to focus them, set them into categories of importance and move on from there.

“I think my mind is trying to right things. Pull back layers of built up stories to find the truth. During the day I can’t focus on anything but in my dreams…it’s like I’m being pulled into focus.” James couldn’t help but cling onto every word he was saying. Steve stepped towards James whose trembling hand reached up to brush the blonde hair out of his eyes. He could see the slightest tremor pass through Steve, unnoticed by anyone without his well-trained eyes. If he held still for long enough he could probably sense the rapid heartbeat inside of Steve’s chest as well.

“We shared an apartment, right? Back then?” Steve asked so sincerely that James couldn’t help but crack the tiniest of smiles. Steve tried to smile back but his nervousness overtook him, and he could only watch and wait.

“We lived together, yes.” James answered, Steve found the wording curious and it raised about twenty new questions that his mind was trying to process. He didn’t know where to start.

“Didn’t our neighbors talk? Two grown men living together? Things were a lot different back then than they are now.” James understood what he was saying without completely saying it. James never thought he would have to go through this part again. The good part about being a top-secret asset of an evil regime is that no one cared about who was behind the gun. Even S.H.I.E.L.D didn’t really seem to care about who he was and the life he lived before they started working for them; if he got the job done what did it matter?

“They knew, and they kept quiet. Everyone loved you.” There was so much there to unpack. Steve stepped even closer to James, who tensed right where he stood; still not completely comfortable with having Steve in such proximity. Steve looked up to his face, taking in all the fine details. The stubble across his cheeks, watching his jaw clench and unclench; this was difficult for both of them.

“Were we—” Steve was cut off by someone knocking on the glass window at the front of the shop. Steve looked and recognized it as a customer named Brenda, a regular who came in every day to look for new releases and to talk Steve’s ear off for a least an hour. She made a gesture towards the watch on her wrist and Steve realized that he was late for opening the shop. Steve turned to look at James, whose metal hand had reached for inside of his coat; he’d been reaching for his firearm out of instinct. When Steve realized this, his hand shot out towards his arm, grabbing him at the elbow and stopping him.

“Don’t. It’s just a customer. I need to open the shop.” James looked down at Steve’s hand on his elbow and then up into his pleading eyes. His hand fell from its holster and took ahold of Steve’s small hand instead. The metal felt cool against Steve’s skin. He wanted to close his eyes and savor the sensation, but Brenda was waiting.

“I should go.” James said, about to release Steve’s hand but Steve only gripped it tighter.

“Tonight. Can we talk?” Steve said and finally after being shifty-eyed during their entire conversation in the shop, James stopped and looked straight into Steve’s soft blue eyes. He waited to see if Steve was going to take it back, change his mind. Steve only smiled reassuringly. James nodded. He knew that no matter what Steve asked of him, he would agree to it. He slipped out of Steve’s grip and walked out of the back exit; leaving Steve to go about his daily tasks, though Steve’s heart just wasn’t in it after their encounter.

Halfway through the day, Kamala arrived and took over to close the shop for the evening and Steve made his way home. He decided to take the bus home, he wanted to get home as quickly as possible. He put his headphones in, letting his music flow through them and take him to another place.

When he arrived at the apartment, everything was still. Not a book or speck of dust out of place. Steve’s shoulders dropped, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat disappointed that James wasn’t there waiting for him. He set his backpack down by the front door and went into his kitchen to start the kettle. Once the water was on the stove top, Steve went into his bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes, his usual pullover sweater and flannel pajama bottoms. It was the middle of the day, but he didn’t stand on ceremony. Even if he was going to be alone he wanted to be comfortable. He went to work in the kitchen, picking out a mug for his tea and looking through his cabinet to find the exact flavor of tea that he wanted. He finally settled on the decaffeinated green tea, the slight bitterness was exactly what he needed for what he assumed would be a long night. He was instantly distracted by a knock at his window. He would have rolled his eyes if his heart hadn’t given him such a flutter. He walked over to the window and saw James crouched down on the fire escape, giving him a bashful wave. Steve abandoned thoughts of his tea as he unlocked the window, making way for James to climb inside. He was completely silent, well-practiced in the art of sneaking around.

“Somehow, I wasn’t sure you were going to come.” Steve said nervously as he watched James straighten up and look around the apartment; like he hadn’t been there before. It was new for Steve, he imagined James in his private space but seeing him there was completely different; he looked larger or the space around him seemed to shrink. James wasn’t sure how to respond to Steve’s statement, how do you explain to someone who doesn’t remember you that you will always be there when he was asked? Did Steve even realize his own importance? He was about to stutter a response when Steve spoke for him as he stepped back into the kitchen; the kettle had started to whistle.

“I’ve been thinking about something since this morning.” He started, and James listened patiently, his hands in his pockets as he watched Steve. He removed the kettle from the stove and poured the steaming water into his mug, the leaves beginning to steep. Without question, Steve pulled out another mug and tea bag from his cabinet, for James.

“That song, the Billie Holiday song…that has significance, right?” Steve asked, setting the mug of tea for James in front of him on the counter. Steve’s was too hot to drink but the warmth emitting from the mug was soothing to his chilled fingertips. James nodded, how much was he willing to share? If Steve couldn’t remember any of it was it truly worth it? Within his ageless mind the answer was always a resounding yes, he would tell the story as many times as it took for Steve to remember it.

“Tell me.” The softness in Steve’s pleading breath ripped through James. There was no way with a silky voice like that that James would be able to ever keep anything from him. Every muscle and bone in his body softened as he looked into Steve’s eyes; resolute and steady. He knew it back then just as he knew it now, he would do anything for him. James cleared his throat, running his flesh and bone hand across his eyes. Steve waited patiently, cataloging all the movements happening around him, creating new memories with James without even noticing he was doing so. Memorizing each sensation.

“It played the night of our first kiss.” James spoke with the kind of quiet confidence that sent shivers cascading through Steve’s body. It was an answer to one of the million questions that were constantly flowing through his mind: were they romantically involved? The thrum of excitement rushed from the top of his head, all the way to the tips of his toes. Steve set his mug down on the counter and walked towards his record player. He turned it on, the slick slice of plastic began to spin. He picked up the needle, set it down and the magical sound of crackling filled the apartment. Even though the window was open, James felt almost too warm. Sounds of his youth swam all around him, ethereal piano notes passing in the air between them. He could sense the nerves in both of them, he couldn’t think of the last time he experienced the pure physical sensation of nervousness. Steve turned to look at him, and his eyes did all the talking for him. James knew there was no denying him, he took a few long steps and was in Steve’s space.

They stood together for a moment, not sure which of them was going to make the first move until James held out his hand for Steve to take. He did as he stepped forward and quickly realized that he was standing so close that he had to look up to meet James’ eyes. He could feel James’ hesitation to touch him with his metal prosthetic, so Steve reached out and moved his hand until it settled on his hip. There was a slight sway to their stance, but Steve wouldn’t have necessarily called it dancing; he was more amazed at the simple actions that had led them both to this moment now. He squeezed James’ hand a bit tighter than before.

“Can you tell me about that night?” He asked, his voice small; a blush rushed to cover James’ face. He closed his eyes for a while, as if recalling all the details of his memories and bringing them forward, not wanting to tell the story wrong.

“We had just gotten home from a dance across town. You were mad because some girl rejected a dance from you and I offered to walk you home…mostly so you wouldn’t get yourself into some kinda trouble.” James cracked a smile, he couldn’t help himself. For so long he had kept memories like these to himself because he had no one to talk to. After his liberation from Hydra and without the near constant whipping of his memories; things had slowly started to come back to him. He still didn’t trust the people around him, so he hadn’t confided in any of them about the memories that had started to pierce through the concrete of his mind. It felt good, being able to be present with Steve through every step of his process. It was everything that he never got himself.

“It wasn’t raining just yet that night, but you could feel the cold throughout every space of our apartment. You wouldn’t stop pouting all night so finally I offered to dance with you, so you would shut up about it. I played this song on your mother’s record player and held my hand out to you.” James said as he squeezed Steve’s hands just a bit tighter. Steve’s face was nearly as crimson as the sweater he wore. Their bodies were nearly flush against each other, the feeling Steve could only describe as magnetic. Being able to be this close to each other felt like pieces finally being set in place.

To Steve, listening to the recollections straight from James felt surreal and made him feel closer to the memories, as if it was almost completely known; so close to the surface. He shyly looked up into James’ icy eyes but all he could see was warmth that completely enveloped him. The song was coming to an end, about to break them out of their trance. He felt James’ grip on his hand and on his hip grow tighter and when he looked up again, he noticed something pass across James’ face that he hadn’t seen before. A dark look passed over his heavy eyes, his gaze dropped to Steve’s lips and back up; it was hard for Steve to mistake that look.

Desire; he knew the feeling in theory but had never felt it’s full effects until this moment. A new thickness in the air surrounded them, it was almost palpable. James’ breath was hot against Steve’s face, he smelled of soap and vanilla scented detergent; Steve wanted to revel in it all day. Perhaps he was getting wrapped up in all the emotions between them, but Steve naturally found himself pulling up on his toes and inching his lips ever closer. Just as their lips were about to meet, something inside Steve made him pause; which was all James needed to pull away. A second of a pause as enough for the magic and static of the moment to be broken. The last notes disappeared into crackles and pops as James took a step back, though their hands were still holding on. Steve couldn’t help but try and hide his disappointment, it was written across his face.

“I’m sure you can imagine what happened next.” James whispered shyly, his eyes looking nearly everywhere except Steve’s. Steve let go of his hand and they both fell to their sides. Steve knew what was coming next, James was bound to make his exit any second. Steve didn’t want him to go but he didn’t know how to make him stay. He didn’t know how to explain that when James was there it made everything in his head seem quieter. He only watched as James inched closer to the windows, it made him feel powerless.

“James…you don’t have to go away. You could hide here if you wanted.” Steve’s skin tingled when he noticed the faintest smile on James’ lips. It was a beautiful sight. Steve thought for a moment that his words might work, maybe James would stay with him in his tiny apartment. A space that was barely big enough for one, but he wanted to make it work. He had felt so alone for so long, learning now that he had been alone for a lot longer than he first imagine and that terrified him. James continued to move towards the windows and was about to step through when he stopped and looked at Steve.

“I don’t want to hide anymore.” He said, his mournful eyes looking right through Steve’s. He was there and then he was gone. Steve stood in the middle of his living room, listening to the static of his record player; empty hands at his sides, thinking about James’ last words. He laid in bed later that evening, still thinking about those words. James was becoming an enigma, a puzzle that Steve was determined to solve; with or without his memories.

Sunday mornings were always busy at the shop, Steve was busy trying to add new inventory into the computer and ringing up the steady line of customers. His face hurt from smiling so much. He was finishing ringing up a customer when a flash of red caught his attention towards the front of the shop. A woman, he recognized her from a few weeks prior; she had been shopping for a Kipling book. She stepped up to the counter once the throng of customers dissipated.

“Hey, welcome back.” Steve said, smiling his best customer service smile and the red-head smiled back at him. She held a small, brown package in one hand. Before she spoke she looked around at all the remaining customers inside the shop, like she was making sure no one was listening to their conversation.

“I owe you an apology, Mr. Rogers. I’m Natasha…” She reached out her hand and even though Steve was confused, he took her hand and shook it. “…I’m James’ partner. I was here a few weeks ago and to be perfectly honest, I was doing recon. Spying on you…” The apology seemed genuine, but Steve couldn’t help but laugh.

“I just assume everyone around me is a spy now, honestly. Mrs. Conway down the hall in my building is probably Black Ops.” Natasha cracked and laughed along with him. She set her package down on the counter and slid it towards Steve.

“James wanted you to have this. He would have delivered it himself, but he found a bug in his apartment and he didn’t want to risk being followed.” Steve had a lot of questions, but he didn’t get the chance. The second he looked back up to speak to Natasha, she was out the front door. Steve wanted to wait until he got home to open his package, but he could tell just from looking at it that it was a book and he just couldn’t help himself.

Pulling off the brown paper wrapping, he was left holding a well-worn copy of The Absolutist by John Boyne. Steve had heard of it but had never found the time to read it. He opened the front cover and an envelope fell from the inside page. The top right corner of the cover page was inscribed with a signature, “Bucky Barnes, July 2013” How many times had this book been read in the last five years? Bucky? He had heard the name before in his dreams, his memories. Had he been calling James the wrong name the entire time? He looked down at the envelope, it was browning and warped, the creases and folds of the paper were plagued with age. He carefully opened the envelope and pulled out the paper. One sheet folded, with a photograph behind it. He looked at the photograph first, it was of James. The sepia toned photograph was old, he knew this immediately because of how young James looked in the picture. Though his face was covered in dirt, his youth was apparent. He was wearing his trench uniform; the hard hat covered his short hair and his rifle at his side. The look on his face was indicative of that time in history; he was neither smiling nor frowning, his eyes were vacant. Steve studied his face, looking for all the pieces of James that he saw now, in the man back then. He set the photo down and gently unfolded the piece of paper from the envelope; a letter. The writing was short and hasty, like he had been trying to get as many thoughts out in a short amount of time:

Steve,
I’m in Italy now, can you believe that? I haven’t received a letter from you in a few weeks, so I hope everything at home is okay. I had a dream last night, I don’t know how much I should tell you, but you were in it. We had decided to leave Brooklyn, crazy I know. We built a cabin just big enough for the both of us up North. I know it was just a dream but when I come home, let’s think about it. After the War, it’s you and me until the end.
Yours,
Bucky