Layer on Layer

“Painting creates. It does not limit itself to imitation or reproduction. Any desire to confine painting within the limits of déjà vu would be a gross misunderstanding of the essence of what painting is. Painting allows us to see that which without it would never be seen.”
― Marcel Paquet, Botero

Steve dropped his paintbrush into the tray at his feet. The last coat of paint had taken them just a couple of hours. Peggy smiled softly at him from her spot at his side. While Peggy headed into the bathroom to clean his brushes, Steve started to pull the drop cloths off his furniture. He’d wait a few hours to actually move his furniture back into place. Instead, he started to inspect the walls for any less than perfect spots. It looked good, fresh and clean, bright and new. And his head sure felt a little duller, definitely more calm, after all the repetitive motions.

“Steve?” Peggy called. He must have drifted off staring at the walls because he didn’t hear her come back. She walked over still holding the wet brushes in one hand while reaching out to squeeze his left hand with her free one. “I was thinking that you could stay over one more night.”

He took the brushes from her and set them upright in one of his buckets to dry. He had to admit it was a tempting and appealing idea, one he had considered throughout the afternoon as the bright sun slowly started to set. But he hadn’t dared let himself plan on it. He knew she had early mornings, and so did he. Although, admittedly, his current job site was much closer to her place.

“You have to work tomorrow.” She shrugged in response. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“I doubt I’ll be called in early, especially when I already plan to be at the office early. And I really think you ought to let your room air out the paint fumes for one more day.”

Steve hesitated, not on any real grounds but simply because he was still embarrassed about the nightmare. He believed Peggy when she told him that she wasn’t upset, but still, he worried that he’d just have another. Especially about her. And in her bed. It was decidedly unromantic pillow talk. But sharing a bed with Peggy the past two nights had been something out of a dream, and he was sure he’d have a hard time going back to lonely nights.

“If it wouldn’t disturb you. I mean it would be on the safer side not to sleep in here another night,” he babbled, scratching absently at his neck, “then yeah, I’d really like that.”

She smiled encouragingly. “Yes, me too.”

The comforting gesture of her palm against the small of his back made his body relax, and he released a relieved breath. He tossed his work clothes into his duffel bag, a clean pair of pajamas and adds a few pencils to go with his sketchbook. Bucky didn’t appear by the time they left for her loft so he sent him a text just to let him know he was spending another night with Peggy. The emojis that he received in reply were completely undignified, and yet Steve still found himself grinning a little.

Don’t be an ass James Buchanan Barnes.

          Ouch. That did not warrant full name usage. Have fun. Do anything I would do.

Peggy suggested ordering in for dinner to accompany an evening on her couch. She put him in charge of finding something on Netflix, something he was still astounded she only used a handful of times. It’s funny because Steve had always loved movies, loved watching things. He remembered all the times on base he spent watching whatever was available with his unit. They passed the hours waiting for action by devouring whatever show or movie they had. On rare occasions there’d be a new DVD from someone’s care package. It was one of the ways his unit became close, how they destressed from a constantly stressful environment.

He thought Peggy was slowly warming to the magic that was thousands of movies and TV shows at the push of a button, another way for her to decompress from her hectic life. But what Steve loved even more was the cuddling. He had a built-in excuse for pressing Peggy into his body for at least ninety minutes, breathing in the scent of her; the lingering notes of her perfume and the wafting residue of shampoo and lotion. It was perfect hours of feeling the softness of her skin, and the pervading warmth of shared space. And when she would stretch out her limbs, shifting until the curvatures of their bodies molded together perfectly, only made it the moment better. He loved it. And he would take it any dose he could get.

“How about something warm to drink?” she asked. “Something soothing before bed?”

“Maybe some herbal tea if you have it.”

She nodded and kissed him before getting off the couch, so tenderly it made him sigh for a long moment while she headed into the kitchen. He loved Peggy so much. He’d never known his pulsating heart to feel so warm and full. Weeks upon weeks of knowing her, and still seemed unreal to have managed to hold onto such an unbelievable feeling.

It was warm in her bedroom, and since they’d been intimate, Steve felt comfortable wearing only his boxers to bed. When Peggy plucked his shirt off the top of his duffel and slipped it over her underwear he couldn’t help but stare. She looked good in absolutely everything, but in his shirt, it thrilled him to completely selfish ends. It made him pull her on top of him. They kissed long and languidly, warm tongue against warm tongue, the mere scraps of cloth between them only fueling the desire. He’d never felt every nerve in his body firing the way he did when he was touching Peggy.

“How are you feeling?” she asked after their mouths disengaged, hands playing with each other’s hair.

“Okay,” he told her. And he did. For the most part.

“You’re sure?” she asked gently. “Because if there’s anything you’d like to get off your chest before going to sleep…”

His eyes closed, and for a split-second he remembered a violent image from his nightmare. It made his shoulders shudder. When he opened his eyes, Peggy’s gazed back in concern.

“I’m okay,” he repeated. “But… It’s hard. I feel like you constantly have to be the one making sure I’m okay. And that’s not fair to you.”

“Steve,” she admonished gently. “Darling, look at me. I’m not keeping scoring.”

Still, his shoulders hunched, and he ducked his head. “I just don’t want to become a burden,” he admitted, just barely audibly.

He felt her lips press against his forehead.

“You know you’re not the only one receiving comfort. You give me the same support in return and I don’t want you to convince yourself of the opposite,” she said.

“You have no idea how lonely and isolated I’ve been too. It’s the job. But it wasn’t until I had Angie and Jarvis in my life that I realized how nice it is to have someone caring in my life again. It’s something I’ve been working on for years. On trying to maintain close relationships despite the job. Despite the fact that I’ve lost many people close to me already. And with you, even when the world gets to me, I feel better knowing I have you.”

His breath hitched and he closed the gap to kiss her hard. That’s what he felt between them too. A solidity that would weather storms.

“I feel better knowing you too,” he replied, squeezing her close.

They fell asleep spooning, Peggy’s chest at his back, her arms possessive around his chest, head in the crook of his neck, and one of her ankles thrown over his thigh. He’d never been held that way. He loved it. He felt warm and wanted and even if he’d have another nightmare, she’d be right there.

He woke when Peggy did, hearing her rustling out of bed at the sound of her alarm at a quarter to six. She smiled sleepily at him as she headed into the bathroom. He could snooze for another hour if he wanted to. He was only fifteen minutes from the job site, and not needed until eight. But after a while of dozing, he padded to the kitchen, turning on her kettle and rummaging in her fridge to make her breakfast.

“Wondered where you went,” Peggy called as she walked into the room wonderfully put together, hair and makeup immaculate. He did however notice she wasn’t wearing any lipstick.

“Wanted to make you some tea before you go.”

She smiled brightly and stepped into him, her hand running up his bare chest making him shiver.

“That’s very sweet of you darling,” she murmured.

Their lips met, and Steve groaned as her fingers started to run down to his navel.

“Wish the weekend was longer,” he breathed into her ear.

Her laugh tickled the skin of his neck. “Oh, I heartily agree. But we’ve only a few more minutes before I need to go.”

He nodded against her. “Breakfast? I can make you some eggs real fast.”

She hummed, resuming her suckling of his neck and jaw. “My appetite is set for something else.”

She pushed into him until his back bumped the countertop, fingers hooked into the elastic waistband of his underwear. It would be rude to refuse her. He palmed the side of her bare thigh, her tight skirt inching up, and a moment later his boxers hit the floor. He grabbed her by the hips and set her atop the counter, feeling her fingers dig into the muscles in his back as he rid her of her own underwear.

“Have to be quick,” she said, humming as he popped open her blouse’s buttons.

“I can be quick,” he promised, kissing at her clavicle.

She let out a sigh and tossed her head back. “And don’t you dare ruin my hair.”

He grinned at her, and pressed her harder against him.

He missed her all day, and even made it two blocks towards the wrong train before he realized that he wasn’t supposed to head to Peggy’s, but back to his apartment. It had been strange leaving her loft alone that morning. He’d done it on several occasions while working on her remodel, often the last to leave with one final garbage bag. But this time it felt different. He had express permission from Peggy to make himself at home. He needed the nap and shower after she had left for work. And now he still seemed to have taken her order very seriously to have forgotten that the weekend was over and he had his own apartment to get back to.

Bucky was in the kitchen stirring something in a pot when he walked in. It was the first time he’d seen him since Friday morning.

“Hey Buck.”

“Hey. So…” Bucky drew out, smirking a little. “How was your weekend with your girlfriend?”

Steve couldn’t help but grin. “Really good.” Bucky snorted. “What?” he protested.

“Nothing. I just happen to know that look,” he replied with a smirk. “That’s an I-just-got-fu—”

“Buck!”

Bucky shrugged. “Just calling it like I see it,” he said. “So, you made sure she felt good?”

“Oh c’mon,” he groaned. Frankly he felt insulted at the implication.

“What? Lots of guys forget. And if you did, it’s my duty to you as your best friend, and also to women everywhere, to remind you that your girl’s orgasm is a priority.”

He narrowed his eyes and glared. “She felt good.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” Steve hissed, knowing his cheeks were red. “I’m not an idiot. And we’re not teenagers Buck.”

Bucky shrugged, unperturbed. “And you? It was good?”

“Amazing,” he admitted breathlessly before realizing he’d said it.

Steve watched as his friend’s smirk grew, eyes glimmering with glee. He slapped Steve on the shoulder.

“Anyway, it’s about time.”

Steve rolled his eyes and headed toward the sanctuary and privacy of his room. Steve took a long look around his newly painted room. No cracks. No fault lines to further agitate him during difficult nights. With the window opened, sunlight trickling in, and all corners of the room squeaky clean, he felt the difference. He looked around his mess of furniture and started to push it back against the walls. And suddenly, moving it, he decided to make changes.

He pushed his desk up against the window, where he had a decent view of the street below. He unpacked his duffel, tossing out the dirty clothes into his hamper and set his sketchbook and drawing pencils in neat array atop the desk. Once he was finished, he surveyed his work. The change in layout brightened his mood to match the brightness of his walls. The room suddenly opened up and it felt much airier, and opened up. And now the wall space next to his bed was calling for artwork.

He went back to his desk and flicked his sketchbook open, looking at the last page of a half-drawn sketch of a sleeping Peggy. It made him smile. Suddenly struck with an idea, he opened his top drawer and pulled out a folder. He picked out a sketch, one of Peggy, and set it upright against the wall. It would do for now. Later he’d frame it, maybe even paint her in full color. It would be a start to his own decorating.

It’s so quiet without you, he texted her later that night from his bed.

          What’s that supposed to mean? Are you trying to tell me I snore?

He grinned at his phone.

Maybe.

          Rude.

          I miss you in bed with me too.

It was all another adjustment, from sleeping alone to going home from work. In a single weekend of Peggy around the clock, he’d been spoiled. But rather than mope about it, especially knowing how busy Peggy’s week was going to be, he decided to keep busy himself. He started with getting to work on painting the lobby for his landlord as promised. He had a short workday so he headed to the hardware store for painters tape and a few gallons of paint. Then he set up shop with his brushes and rollers. He did the ceiling first, hoping to knock it out of the way, hoping to avoid paint dripping on any residents coming home from work or school.

He was about halfway done when the woman who lived in the first floor apartment came through with her daughter skipping through the lobby towards the mailboxes. She stopped short at the sight of Steve on his stepladder. She carried a bright pink backpack roughly the same size as her and wore adorably sweet round glasses. She tilted her head up at him.

“Hello,” he smiled down at her.

“Hi! Why are you painting?” she asked.

“The landlord asked if I could make the lobby look a little nicer. I’m a painter. He’s going to get that buzzer fixed for us in return,” he replied, noticing her mother coming up behind the girl.

“Oh, the buzzer’s finally going to be repaired?” the woman asked sounding relieved.

Steve nodded at her. “I’ll make sure of it. Steve Rogers,” he introduced, wiping down his hand before offering it, “I live on the third floor.”

She introduced herself as Gina Hernandez, and her daughter Gabi.

“Does paint come in bright pink?” Gabi asked him.

“Sure does. You’d like that better than white huh?”

“Yes.” She shot him a toothy grin, teetering onto her tiptoes. “I want pink bookshelves for all my adventure books. But I only have finger paint.”

The mother smiled apologetically at him and started to usher the girl around the corner to their door.

“You’re doing a great job,” Gina said with a smile. “Have a good day.”

He waved to both ladies and climbed back up his stepladder. But he couldn’t stop thinking about bright neon pink paint.

By the time Bucky had walked through the lobby, looking slightly surprised to see him painting, Steve was finishing up the last wall.

“You need help bringing anything up?” Bucky asked when Steve came up to clean his brushes in the sink.

“If you feel like it. You can grab the drop cloths and the step-ladder. I’ll grab the rest once I get my brushes clean.”

“Sure thing.”

While Steve went back to clean up, going out to toss the empty paint cans, he realized between the lobby and his bedroom, he’d had a lot of supplies left over.

“Hey Buck?” he called out into the living room. “I still have all paint left over. How about I fix up your room too?”

“Nah, you don’t have to. You work too many hours.”

“It wouldn’t take me that long,” he said with a shrug. He didn’t know how bad the walls were in Bucky’s room. He hadn’t been in there since the last time he had hauled a drunk Bucky to bed. That was months ago, he realized. “And I swear it’ll make a difference.”

He made a point of showing Bucky his room to show the results. He pointed to the spots that used to be full of cracks that no longer existed. Bucky seemed fairly impressed but he still hesitated.

“It’s really not a big project and I really wouldn’t mind,” Steve added. “I’d rather make good use of the paint.”

“Okay,” Bucky reluctantly relented.

He asked to see his room to check out the walls so he could estimate how long the work would take. Bucky’s room had a much different feel. It was dimmer, thanks to the curtain over his window, as well as the lamp and candles he used in favor of the overhead light. His laptop screen glowed against the wrinkled covers it rested on top of, and there was what looked like a stack of library books on the chair next to his bed. It was like finally getting a glimpse into Bucky’s day-to-day life, something he hadn’t realized he didn’t considered before. It made sense that he liked the room darker and warmer. And that he would have library books.

There were cracks same as there had been is his room, only Bucky’s were clustered around two walls from what he could tell.

“Think there’s some peeling paint behind my bed,” Bucky said while Steve was inspecting the walls.

He nodded. “It’s not so bad otherwise. Same as my room mostly. But it’ll be nice to get the yellowing paint off the walls.”

Bucky snorted. “Before it becomes anymore of a The Yellow Wallpaper situation.” Steve looked over at him blankly. “It’s a story about a woman’s degrading mental health when she gets confined to her room.” Steve continued to blink at him. “We read it in high school. And I had it again in one of my college English classes. I think I just finally fully understood it for the first time.” He shook his head. “Anyway. So how long do you think it’ll take?”

“Two, three days tops.”

“Okay. But I want to help.”

“If you want to. But I swear Buck, it’s not that much work. Waiting for layers to dry is what’ll take the longest.”

Bucky seemed adamant, so he promised not to start without him.

“So, Buck and I are going to redo his bedroom same as mine,” he said passing the bag of snacks he brought into Peggy’s lap.

Peggy had a few hours to spare in between waiting for international calls and was surprisingly easy to convince her to join him, on short notice no less, for a showing of Singing in the Rain in Bryant Park. She dug right into the popcorn and shifted on the blanket he brought to lean against his arm.

“Really?” she asked, still crunching through a mouthful of popcorn. He grinned and couldn’t help leaning in to kiss her. “Really Steve? We’re not birds.” He just kissed her again as she giggled. She swatted at his arm. “Well good, I’m glad you’re doing the same for him.”

“Yeah. I thought it was a good idea. And he wants to help.”

“So how’s he doing? Alright?”

Steve nodded, grabbing himself a handful of popcorn. “I think he’s been doing better. He seems less agitated. At least around me.”

She hummed. “You should have invited with along tonight. I still haven’t managed to meet him you know.”

“Oh,” he replied. “I should’ve asked. He was home tonight too.”

“I suppose it’s a little late now. Next outing, you should invite him.”

“Will do.”

She nodded, returning her attention to Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds. “Where’s he going to stay while you air it out?”

“Oh… I’m not sure actually.” He had forgotten about it, and if he had forgotten, it probably hadn’t occurred to Bucky at all. He supposed the couch would make do. Or Bucky could take his bed and he’d bunk up on the couch for a few nights. Or… There was another idea that struck him as infinitely preferable. Although he supposed it wouldn’t be fair to ask. “I could offer to let him sleep in my bed,” he said.

Peggy looked over at him and quirked an eyebrow knowingly at him. “Oh?”

“Maybe I could come spend a night or two at your place?”

“I suppose you wouldn’t put me out,” she said with a grin. “I’m not sure what my hours are going to be like, but you’re still welcome to share my bed.”

“If you’re sure it won’t be a bother.”

“Coming home to my boyfriend curled up in my bed? I think that’s the opposite of a bother.”

He could feel his face flushing with pleasure.

It was nice to be working on walls in the summertime when the natural light persisted long into the day.

“Oh, so you shouldn’t stay in here while we work,” Steve told Bucky as they finished covering all his furniture. “But you can stay in my room.”

“Yeah? And where are you gonna be? The couch? I can take the couch.”

“Actually, I was thinking I might spend the night out…”

“Ohhh.” Bucky smirked knowingly. “You’re spending another night at your girlfriend’s? Wait, did you want to paint my room as an excuse to have another sleepover with her?”

“Don’t need an excuse, just happens to be a fringe benefit,” he replied. “Anyway, Peggy had a similar idea when I told her.” Bucky snorted. “By the way, she said you should come out with us sometime.”

“What and be a third wheel?”

“No,” he replied, rolling his eyes and handing him a scraper, “just so you two can finally meet.”

They worked on opposite sides of the room and continued randomly talking about their days, Peggy, Bucky’s family, and memories of their running around the city as kids and later as teenagers. The work was just as enjoyable as it had been with Peggy, and the more they scraped, the more Steve was glad they were doing it. He was glad Peggy ever suggested repainting. He was glad to be working on something with Bucky again. And he thought, that maybe, symbolically at least, this could start a new chapter of their adulthood. Starting over, starting fresh. Anything could happen. After all, cracks could be smoothed out, and a dull wall could always get a glossy finish.

The following day, when they actually started applying the white paint, Bucky yelped. He dropped his roller to the ground, and hissed as he grabbed at his left shoulder. Steve set down his own roller and hurried over to his side.

“Are you okay?”

Bucky remained hunched over in pain, eyes squeezed shut and it took him a minute to reply. 

“Damn it,” he said through gritted teeth, punching the floor with his right fist.

“Buck?”

“I’m fine!”

Steve uncovered part of Bucky’s bed and sat him down.

“Do you need a pain pill?”

Bucky managed a nod through the obvious pain. Steve rushed into the bathroom to bring him back his medicine.

“Why don’t you take off your prosthetic?”

“I’m fine,” Bucky growled. He swallowed the pill and started over back for his paint roller. “I must have overdone it at the gym yesterday.”

He wasn’t convinced. “Buck, take a break. Just relax your shoulder.”

“I can finish,” he said defiantly.

Steve sighed. “I know. But you don’t have to.”

“We said we’d do this together.”

“And we are. But there’s no reason to be stupid about it. Seriously, Bucky. I’m not asking. Lay down.”

He glowered at him but didn’t fight the order. Steve wasn’t sure why Bucky felt the need to push through, especially on something as dumb as painting. He couldn’t believe that Bucky would think he was letting him down by sitting it out and taking care of himself. But the more he thought about it, the more Steve considered that was exactly it.

As for Bucky not taking off his prosthetic as a point of pride, that Steve wasn’t too sure about. He’d gone weeks without a prosthetic those early days in New York. He’d been on a military waiting list to receive his prosthetic. He knew Bucky was a little sensitive about his metal arm, but he supposed he thought it was only with strangers.

Barely five minutes passed of Bucky rubbing furiously at his shoulder before he started for his abandoned roller.

“Buck,” he scolded. “I got it. Seriously.”

Bucky sighed. “I didn’t mean for you to end up doing all of this on your own.”

“I didn’t,” he pointed out. “Anyway, painting’s my thing. Remember?” He hoped the light comment might shake Bucky out of any misguided guilt.

Only Bucky didn’t smile, he just sighed heavily again. “Flowers and ladies maybe. You weren’t supposed to be painting rooms white,” he replied bitterly.

Steve bit his lip, his strokes slowing. True, he had never thought this was where he would end up, especially not once he joined the army. But he needed a job, and this was the one that would take him and also payed the bills.

“The job’s okay Bucky,” he said after a few minutes.

“Yeah, but it was supposed to be temporary,” Bucky replied, still rubbing at his arm. “It’s been what six months with Miller? And now you’re painting our rooms and the lobby downstairs.”

“So? I actually like this part. I like being having a skill that can help others. Our rooms were miserable looking. And I can paint. So I wanted to paint. For you too. It’s because of painting with Miller, I even started painting for fun again. And I met Peggy painting. It’s not all bad. It’s not what I expected, but I can make something out of it Buck.”

“I used to be able to help you. I was your right hand man.”

Steve stopped painting to meet his friend’s eye. “Still are Buck. We’ve always had each other’s backs. Remember when you had to beat up guys for me pretty much every day in junior high? I couldn’t help you with that then.”

Bucky cracked a grin. “Only ‘cause you wouldn’t ever back down from a fight, not if you were doing it for some noble reason.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but smiled. “You never backed down either. Not while I was around.”

“’Cause you were a little punk.”

“Thanks, jerk.”

He took his time leaving for Peggy’s that evening, making sure that Bucky was comfortable in his room. Steve brought in Bucky’s stack of pillows from his bed, and made sure to close the blinds for him. They ate together since Peggy had a dinner meeting anyway, and then finally, after asking Bucky at least a dozen more times if his arm was okay, and if he’d be okay for the night, Steve finally made his way to Peggy’s apartment.

She wasn’t home yet when Steve made it up, so he fished out the key she had given him and let himself in. It felt strange. In a good way. He headed toward her bedroom to drop off his duffel. Then, he headed for the living room, flipping the TV to Netflix, while he settled on the couch with his sketchbook.

A delicate touch to his hair caused his eyes to open. Peggy was hunched over the back of the couch smiling at him. He must have drifted off.

“Hey,” he said in a raspy voice. “Is it late?”

Peggy’s warm voice let out a laugh. “Eight forty-five.”

Steve smiled sheepishly. “Oh. I… have no excuse.”

“That’s quite alright darling,” she said brushing her hand through his hair once more. “I’m just happy to see you, sleepy and all.”

His heart thudded against his ribcage. Yes, it was good to be welcome and comfortable in Peggy’s home.

“Come Steve, let’s go to bed.”

“Before nine?”

She smiled. “You can cuddle while I finish up some emails.”

He grinned and jumped up off the couch. It was just what he needed. He watched Peggy change from against her pillows. No longer feeling sleepy, he flipped to a blank page of his sketchbook and started to draw while Peggy finished up her routine in the bathroom. She picked up her laptop off the bedside table, and settled against her headboard, reaching a hand over to play with his hair for a moment. He shifted over until their shoulders touched. The sound of the keys clicking as she typed was a soothing soundtrack to his sketching.

“What are you drawing?”

Peggy’s question broke his reverie and he had only then noticed that her laptop was put away. He had been drawing an old familiar street in Brooklyn, one he had loitered on for hours with Bucky.

“Oh,” he shifted the sketchbook closer to her, “it’s Bucky and me when we were kids. This was one of our favorite hangouts as kids. There was this old movie theater that’s condos now right next to this amazing Italian bakery. Sometimes, the woman who owned it had leftovers at the end of the night. We’d offer to sweep her floors. She’d send us home with boxes of cookies. We’d sneak them into late movies.”

Peggy chuckled. “I’d like to see that. You should continue that. Make a series for me.”

He smiled up at her. “Really?”

She nodded. “I want to see all the stories of young Steve causing trouble with his best friend.”

“Only if I hear more stories about you at that all girls’ school.”

Peggy made a face and rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what my parents expected given that my brother was just as naughty and he was my role model.”

Steve grinned and kissed her arm where he could reach. He set his sketchbook away. “You promised me cuddles.” He rolled onto his side, and easily slid against her body. “How was your dinner thing? Long or just a late dinner?”

She huffed, reaching out to press her palm against his back. “Just long. Out of towners. Had to do a bit of the ol’ New York show and dance.”

“Show and dance, huh? Do tell.”

She chuckled, kissing him sweetly. “It’s just a pain.”

“Schmoozing?”

“Yes,” she punctuates with a sigh. “It’d be different if this was the business world, but as it’s a little more precarious than that—”

“Saving the world you mean?” he interrupted.

She raised her eyebrow in warning. They never did discuss the particulars of her job. Not that it was necessary. He did understand, better than most. It was hard to talk to anyone about his own old missions, given that so many were classified. Still, the tidbits and anecdotes did make for interesting conversation, if always very vague

“Where are you off to?” Bucky asked Friday afternoon when Steve came home to change into nicer clothes. “Another date?”

Steve grinned. “We’re going to MoMA since it’s open late. You wanna come?”

Bucky made a noncommittal noise. “It’s crowded as hell on free days.”

“True. But she’s never been, and she happens to be free so… You should come. We could get Halal Guys afterwards.”

“Third wheel it while you guys walk all cutesy between galleries?” He made a sound that reminded Steve a lot of schoolboys complaining about cooties. “No thanks.”

“You won’t be a third wheel. We’re just gonna look at art. With hundreds of other people.”

“Nah. Go. Talk her ear off about The Starry Night or the Water Lilies or whatever. Show off your incredible knowledge of brush strokes,” Bucky joked, seeming to amuse himself.

“You sure? It’ll be fun.”

“Go, be romantic. I’m cool. Really.”

“You should really join us. You still haven’t met Peggy.”

“Maybe when you guys aren’t doing something so blatantly dateish,” he said making a sour expression with an accompanying sound of disgust.

A few days later, Steve invited him to join him and Peggy to beat the heat with a movie.

“A movie?!” Bucky scoffed. “Hell no am I sitting next to you in a dark room, ready to make out with your girlfriend the second the previews are over.”

“Uh, that’s you not me. I like watching the movies.”

Bucky shook his head. “No way. Way too date-like. That would be really unfun for me.”

Steve shrugged and jogged off so as to not be late.

Incessant ringing cut through the dark bedroom.

“Peg?” he slurred in his sleep, unwinding his arms from around her waist. “Work?”

She groaned back at him. “Your phone not mine,” she said just as sleepily.

Her words barely made sense, his head fuzzy, but when he looked over at his bedside table, it was lit up. He blinked his eyes into focus and reached out for his phone. His stomach dropped and his heart started to race.

“It’s Bucky!”

Peggy immediately sat up and turned on her lamp, looking wide awake.

“Buck? Is everything okay?” he said into the phone.

“Hey Steve,” he heard Bucky slur, barely coherent. “I um… Shit. Shit Steve. Need you to get me.”

Steve felt a chill run through him. He swung his legs off the bed already grabbing clothes. “Where are you?”

“This bar… Didn’t even… barely anything. Blurry. Dunno why. Bad reaction.”

“Where are you Bucky?”

Bucky finally managed to slur out the name of the bar. “Don’t feel good Steve.”

“I’m on my way. Don’t move. Okay? I’ll be there soon.”

“What’s going on?” Peggy asked him as he threw on his shirt.

“I need to get Bucky. He sounded really drunk, but something was wrong about it. He’s never called me to come get him before.”

“I’ll go with you,” Peggy said.

“No,” he replied. “I appreciate that really, but I don’t think Bucky will respond well to meeting you for the first time in this state.”

He watched her bite her lip. “What can I do then?” she asked. “I’ll order you a ride there.”

He wanted to tell her that wasn’t necessary but she was already tapping away at her phone. So he pulled on his jeans, stuck his keys and wallet into his pocket and sighed deeply, scrubbing a hand over his face.

He felt Peggy’s arm wrap around his waist.

“It’ll be here in four minutes,” she murmured. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

He shook his head. “I got this, really. But thanks Peggy.” He managed a weak smile for her when she squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry about this. ‘Bout waking you.”

She shook her head and kissed him. “Please let me know when you two get home.”

He nodded seriously at her request.

The dive bar was full and rowdy, and Steve was surprised that Bucky wasn’t caught up in the middle of it. Instead, he spotted him sitting in a corner, rocking a bit back and forth, eyes glazed, and his right hand digging into his left shoulder.

“Bucky,” he said calmly to get his attention.

He grinned up at Steve, liquor soaked and unfocused. The plastered grin fell in a split second.

“Steve!” He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. “Summin’ ain’t right.”

He nodded patiently. “Let’s go home Buck.”

“Gotta pay my tab. I think. Whaz the time?”

Steve stood from the table. “I’ll pay the bill. Stay here. I’ll be back in a second.”

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. “Shit Steve.”

Steve walked over to settle the bill and then slung Bucky’s arm around his shoulder. He managed to quickly hail a cab, getting Bucky into the car with almost no trouble. The ride was mostly quiet, Bucky with his cheek pressed against the cab window, Steve spread out on the seat ready to brace him in the case a bump caused Bucky to fall over or possibly throw up.

“Fuck. You were with your girl?” Bucky slurred. “Cock blocked? You were getting it on.”

“It’s fine, Buck.”

“Liar. Peggy’s probs pissed. At me. She doesn’t know me. Can’t meet me now.”

Steve sighed. “Shut up Buck. She’s not mad. And you still have to meet her.”

“’Kay. Sorry I took you from your girl.”

“I’m glad you called.”

Bucky seemed mostly sleepy by the time they made it back to the apartment, docile for the most part, unlike his usual angry mannerisms while intoxicated. That was unnerving. He led Bucky into his room, going out to get him a glass of water and coming back to find him already passed out. Relatively sure that everything was okay for the night, especially when Bucky immediately started to snore, Steve crawled into his bed.

Got Bucky home. Everything’s okay. Hope you’re sleeping, he sent to Peggy.

          Glad you’re both okay. I’ll talk to you in the morning.

Steve couldn’t sleep. He folded his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. It was the first time he’d done so since he had redone his room. There were no cracks to study, nothing to draw his attention, only smoothness. He wondered if Bucky had been going out a lot again. He wondered if there were other nights that he barely managed to make it home. He wondered what made him call tonight. Mostly though, he was glad that he did call. He was glad he thought to. That he trusted Steve to call.

Still, it didn’t stop his worrying.

He slept only a few hours, waking early to make sure he caught Bucky before he left for the day. He pulled out his sketchbook, made a pot of coffee and parked himself on the couch. He drew haphazard lines, page after page, vague skylines, occasional vantage points that he remembers from nights on base. He scrawled more lines, erasing just as many.

Bucky finally strolled into the kitchen yawning and clutching at his forehead, nodding vaguely at Steve.

“Can we talk about last night?” Steve asked, after following him in the kitchen. Bucky stopped pouring his coffee, refusing to meet his eye. “I just want to know if you’re okay.”

Bucky nodded slowly. “I didn’t go out to get drunk. I only had a couple drinks. But something’s screwy with my shoulder, and I took this new medicine, and I forgot that I did… You’re not supposed to drink with it. It can cause weird brain things. And it did. Probably ‘cause my brain’s already screwy.” He sighed. “I couldn’t get myself to move. Felt like I was high as a kite. And terrified at the same time. So I ordered a stronger drink. Which was stupid. And then I didn’t know what to do.”

“So you called.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I really am sorry about interrupting your night.”

“I told you it was okay last night, and it still is,” Steve told him. “I’m sorry about your arm Buck.”

He visibly stiffened, and the sight surprised Steve.

“Nothing to be sorry for Steve.”

“Buck—”

“Nothing. Everything fucking sucks. But it’s not your fault. Okay?” Bucky said. “You’re my best friend. ‘Til the end of the line.”

Steve sighed. It was easy to hear it wasn’t his fault, and it was even easy to believe it. But still… Moments came where he couldn’t shake the cold ice forming in his gut.

Steve smiled faintly. “Until the end of the line,” he repeated back. “How’s your head?”

“Killer.”

“And your arm?”

“Ten times worse than that. But I took an extra strength Tylenol and not that new stuff, so it should help soon enough.”

“Okay,” he replied meekly.

Bucky grabbed his shoulder. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

“I’m glad you called.”

“How’s Bucky?” Peggy asked during their phone call on his way to work. He told her about his bad medicinal reaction, and how despite how worried he was, at least he had called. “And how did you sleep?” she asked afterwards.

Steve sighed. There’s no point denying it. “Not so well,” he told her. “Missed you,” he continued quickly, as if it would deter the conversation.

She hummed knowingly. “Nightmares?”

“None that I remember. Just couldn’t fall asleep.”

“Okay. Well, try to take it easy today, okay?”

He easily agreed. “Can I come by later? My stuff’s still at your place.”

“Of course. I may be home late.”

That night, he fell asleep on her couch again while waiting for her. He jerked awake an hour later from a nightmare. Sweat poured down his forehead. Thankful Peggy wasn’t home to witness it, he jumped into the shower, hoping the icy water might clear his head. He woke from a second nightmare in the middle of the night while Peggy’s arms were around him. After her soothing words and touch, he squeezed his eyes shut until he finally fell asleep.

He knew he’d been walking in a daze for a few days, tired from lack of sleep, and a little quiet. When he hadn’t been holed up in his own room, he’d spent time in Peggy’s room waiting for her to come home from work. He was fine. Just tired and plagued with headaches.

“There’s something I wanted to tell you,” Peggy told him one night in her kitchen. “And I want you to keep an open mind.”

“Okay?”

She set down a brochure in front of him. He recognized the VA logo immediately, and his mouth opened to respond but nothing came out.

“I’ve been working on something with the VA,” she told him. “Remember that conference I went to in D.C.? I told you not all of it was a waste of time. I met this incredible trauma counselor. He gave a talk about PTSD, and different resources available in ensuring that employees at risk were getting their needs met. I enjoyed his presentation so much I went to talk with him afterwards. He’s an Air Force veteran himself. We talked for a long time. I asked for his help on this conference. He’ll be hosting a lot of it along with some colleagues. I wanted you to consider attending.”

He glanced back down at the brochure. For whatever reason, it made his hands shake.

“I’ve been doing okay,” he whispered. It was sort of true. The nightmares had mostly stopped.

Peggy touched his wrist. “I just want you to consider it. There’s a lot of great resources out there, lots of programs I hadn’t even heard of before. I just think if nothing else it’s just something different.”

He shrugged stiffly. “Maybe.”

“Okay,” she replied carefully. “No pressure. I just wanted you to know about it. It’s open to all veterans, free of charge,” she said. “I’ve encouraged my employees to attend at least one event. So if you wanted to tell anyone about it…” She bit her lip. “Are you upset with me?”

“No,” he replied, “no I’m not upset Peggy. This is… Really cool. It’s cool that you thought of helping to organize something like this.”

She smiled faintly. “It’s been in the back of my mind for a while. Like I said, I really connected with that counselor, and it was cathartic talking with him. I just wanted others to have the ability to experience that.”

“Okay.” Steve nodded, trying to focus on the brochure. “Maybe I’ll go.”

Steve slipped into the conference room just as a cheerful man was telling everyone to move their chairs into a circle, moving his computer from the podium at the head of the room to his lap in a chair within the circle. Everyone else had already chosen seats, so Steve squeezed between them to an empty chair near the corner. The man smiled and introduced himself to the group.

The room seemed to burst in cheerful exhales at the end of the presentation, the mood lively compared to its somber beginning. Steve completely understood what Peggy had seen in this counselor. He was compassionate, gentle and observant. And Steve felt… lighter.

He walked over toward the man, waiting as he finished a conversation with another person.

“Hey,” he said in a friendly voice to Steve. “Thanks for joining the group,” he said extending his hand.

“Thanks for your talk Mr. Wilson.”

He chuckled. “Sam. And I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Steve Rogers,” he introduced. He noticed the flash of recognition in Sam’s eyes.

“Ah, I heard I might run into a Steve Rogers,” he said with a friendly smile. “It’s nice to meet you Steve. I’m glad you came out today.”

Steve played with the schedule in his hands. “I’m glad I did too. I noticed you’re having another presentation tomorrow. Will it be similar to the one today? I was hoping I might be able to convince a friend to come.”

Sam nodded. “It’ll be similar. You should definitely encourage your friend to come. Sometimes it helps others to not come alone the first time. Sometimes we don’t realize we’ve placed ourselves into bubbles that only get harder to escape as time passes.”

That was exactly what he had realized listening to Sam talking openly and frankly about his own difficulties returning to civilian life.

“I know exactly what you mean.”

“Are you going to stick around?” Sam asked.

Steve nodded, opening up his schedule. “I thought I might try the art therapy group.”

“Those are some great people. And artists. You like art?”

“I paint and draw,” he admitted. “A little.”

“Cool. I can’t draw for shit outside of stick figures, but they do lots of other cool projects too.” Sam gathered his laptop, turned off the lights to the now empty room and then gestured down the hall with an easy grin. “Come on, you can show me up with your artistic ability.”