Can't Go On Without You

For the rest of the week, Bucky was so far buried in meetings and paperwork he hardly had any time to think about his night out with Steve. Even though he was technically the one in charge of the interns and, according to the initial job description, should have been heading up their various projects—he seemed to be sent out almost constantly on an unending string of trivial errands by Andrew, who was always popping up anytime Bucky got anywhere near overseeing any data of actual import. He spent his evenings finalizing finance reports and coordinating the intern workers schedules for the next morning. His personal to-do list was ever growing, compounded by the simple fact that he was never actually in the office enough to take care of any of it. He finally confronted Andrew about the situation the Thursday before the formal announcement and was pleased when it actually seemed to fluster his older brother.

“Oh, uh…let’s chat out in the hall for a moment.” Andrew gestured slightly and Bucky followed him out the office door.

“Look, I’m not trying to put you on the spot or anything but, I have a job to do here and I haven’t been able to sit down in the office in front of the computer for more than an hour straight since I got here. Running up and down the suburbs of D.C. collecting raw polling data and picking up press materials is not really in my job description.”

Andrew suddenly seemed extremely interested in some small speck of dirt on the wood flooring. “Yes, well, I’m sorry about that, we just needed someone we could trust on it…”

“Andrew.” Bucky motioned behind him. “You have an entire office full of over-eager interns sitting in there just dying to do something besides seal envelopes. I think you could probably come up with a better excuse if you tried for more than half a second.”

“Well, they have only been here for a few days; some of them don’t even know D.C. that well—”

Bucky interrupted, “Look, the blatant fact of the matter is, I can’t get any of the work I’m supposed to have done finished if you keep sending me on all these little chores. I have stacks of paperwork piling up on my desk and I’m barely getting in three hours of sleep a night right now because I have to wait until I get home in the evenings to even start in on it."

“Oh!” Andrew sounded genuinely surprised. “Bucky, you don’t need to worry about the finance stuff—I’ve taken care of the basic operations funding from day one and I already have all of the spreadsheet templates updating on my own hard drive. You don’t need to—”

“Hold up.” Bucky was starting to feel apprehensive, a slivering wisp of suspicion slowly grasping hold. “Why would you be taking care of the basic operations funding?”

Now Andrew was definitely not looking him in the eyes. “Um, I just…um, I had some extra time? You know I like running numbers…”

“Bullshit.”

“Bucky, it’s really not a big deal…”

Realization hit him straight in the chest and he struggled to maintain composure. “Did Dad put you up to this? He doesn’t trust me to do this job does he? Why the hell would he hire me if he didn’t want me doing the job Andrew?”

His older brother was standing there looking completely lost and forlorn. “I…shit Bucky. I’m sorry. It’s not that we don’t trust you—”

“Oh now it’s ‘we’? You don’t trust me either. Great. Fucking fantastic. Where the hell is he right now?”

“Bucky, he’s really busy, the announcement is tomorrow night, I think he may be meeting with press right—”

“Where. The Hell. Is He.” Bucky practically spat out the words. He was so angry, so full of black glutinous vitriol that was threatening to erupt at any moment.

“Umm, I think in his office. Second floor.”

“Right.”

Bucky turned and made his way up the stairs.

Going back to school was hell on earth. Bucky’s face was still a bruised up swollen mess and his arm was noticeably in a cast and sling—completely useless—so of course everyone was talking. Some crazy story surfaced about the attack in the locker room and although Bucky refused to confirm or give up any names of people involved in the incident, word got out that it was part of the football squad and the entire team ended up being called into the Headmaster’s office to be formally admonished and given a weeklong suspension.

The guys didn’t come after him after that—they all had Ivy League aspirations and they weren’t stupid enough to throw everything away for some ‘punk ass kid’—but that didn’t stop them from the constant verbal abuse. Occasionally one or two of them would come up silently behind Bucky, then suddenly grab his shoulder, or throw a hand over his mouth, even just give him a playful shove towards the lockers. It was nothing a professor was going to butt in over—to an outsider’s perspective it really just looked like ‘boys being boys’—but ever since the attack, Bucky’s anxiety was at its breaking point. The teammates knew it, and they loved taking full advantage of it. He would try to control himself—he could hold it together most the time if he just concentrated on taking small contained breaths and coiled his worry and stress snugly around himself—but when they came up behind him like that he would whirl about, the tightly wound thread snapping. His pupils would dilate and his breathing would hitch and try as he might he couldn’t control it anymore. The guys would usually just laugh and make their way down the hall and Bucky would get to the nearest bathroom stall he could find and puke up anything he had managed to eat in the day.

He hated it. He hated how weak he was, how terrified he was all the time, how small he felt. Liquor helped, but the pain pills he had been given for his arm were even better. He would pop a few—swallow them down with a gulp of cheap vodka from a water bottle he always carried—and that would mellow him out enough to get through the next few hours.

Steve, for his part, was suddenly around more and more. He still carried the guilt of what had happened and was desperate to be there for his friend. Bucky let him, but he no longer tried to hide any of the substance abuse from him. Steve was despondent over it—he screamed, and yelled and once tried dumping out all the liquor stashed around the room while Bucky just cursed and swore at him but nothing worked. He just couldn’t find it in himself to care what Steve thought anymore—it just didn’t make any difference.

He was not in the best of shape when Christmas break finally came around.

George Barnes was sitting in his custom-made Fritz Hansen Oxford office chair when Bucky threw open the door to the office and stormed inside. George glanced over briefly, then turned back to his monitor on the desk.

“Listen, Pierce? I’m going to have to call you back. Yes. Thank you.”

He gently hung up the phone, then swiveled around to look at Bucky.

“I do believe that I mentioned to Andrew that I would be on business calls for the next few hours and that my schedule would be unavailable for staff meetings?”

Bucky snorted. “Staff huh Dad? I just had an…enlightening chat with Andrew. About my duties as the George Barnes Campaign Office Manager.”

There was the slightest crinkling in the folds around George’s eyes, but otherwise he stayed quite still. “That boy doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.”

“Well so glad to hear that I am not the only one who occasionally fucks things up for you, Dad.” Bucky was trying so hard to keep himself in check, to maintain control. “Why the hell did you hire me if you didn’t actually want me to contribute anything?”

“Sit down, James.” George motioned to the smaller chair next to his desk.

“I’d rather stand.”

“I said, sit. down.” The man spoke with all the finality and authority of a presidential figure. Bucky slowly lowered himself into the chair.

“Now, I know you are not a complete idiot.” George spoke with a sneering immediacy to his tone.

“Gosh Dad, thanks so much for the vote of confi—”

George held up his hand and continued speaking. “Do not continue to interrupt me James. As I was saying. Not a complete idiot, though I have frequently had my doubts. Listen closely. You are a troublesome and rebellious alcoholic with narcotic dependencies and certain anger management issues.”

Bucky felt himself go cold all over and realized he was gripping the arms of the chair so tightly he was losing circulation.

“You will absolutely not have a hand in the running of any part of this campaign with that background.”

He held up his hand again as Bucky opened his mouth to speak.

“Now. You are also a Barnes. It is far more beneficial to my polling numbers to have all of my family members and descendants actively participating in and being part of all aspects of the campaign than it does to publicly disown one. You were brought into this campaign in title only. Andrew and one of our interns will be covering for all of the actual job description. You will show up to work, fiddle around on the computer, then make happy little appearances at all press events looking like a fully supportive Barnes. Do you understand?”

Bucky felt sick to his stomach. He intentionally kept his grip on the arm rests, knowing that if he released his hands now he might actually punch his father in the face.

“I have a degree Dad. I am not some worthless piece of crap. I have a degree!” He was fighting to keep his voice from shaking.

“Yes, yes, I am well aware. And you have a history of substantial fuck-ups.”

“And if I just leave now? I don’t have to go along with any of this shit you know. I will happily pack up tonight and—”

“Go right ahead. I will personally release statements to all of the press regarding your substance abuse in high school. And through college.”

Bucky looked sharply up.

“All of the therapy, the stint in rehab, the inevitable relapse, all of it. I would also be happy to pass along an unsatisfactory report to any and all future job prospects.”

He felt himself gaping up at his father. All of his work, all of those years in Michigan, all of this, for nothing? “Dad.” Bucky felt the word slip brokenly from his lips. “Why?”

“Or, I have an alternative. You suck it up, do what I ask, and I will happily write you glowing letters of recommendation of which, may I remind you, you don’t particularly deserve from me in light of your past activities against my senate record. You will actually have a fantastic political career ahead of you after this campaign. You will continue to represent the Barnes family legacy.”

Bucky felt his resolve crumbling to dust between his fingertips. He had known this whole thing was too good to be true. His father had despised him since his senior year of high school…since their falling out over the repeal. Why the hell else would George welcome him back into the fold with no strings attached? Stupid. So stupid. He found himself slowly, painfully, nodding along.

“You are a terrible father. You know?”

George’s eyebrows raised the finest of hairs as he continued to pin Bucky down with the power of his stare.

“Fine.  I’ll show up. Just know that once this campaign is over I’m done with this family for good.”

George sighed. “Oh James. Always with the melodramatics. Look at this from a political perspective. You have something to offer me, and I have something in exchange for it.”

Bucky glared at him as he pushed himself up from the chair.

“Oh. James. One more thing.”

“What.”

“The announcement is tomorrow night in front of all the national news and media personnel. Take this afternoon and go get your hair cut. You will absolutely not be looking like some overgrown pot smoking hippy while representing this family.”

“Yes sir,” Bucky muttered, then turned and walked back out of the room.

He was laying on top of this bed staring at the ceiling and enjoying the warm, fuzzy lassitude sweeping over his senses while contemplating popping one more of the giant opiate horse pills his doctor had prescribed him when Steve appeared in the door frame.

“Buck?”

Bucky slowly rolled over onto his right side and propped his head up on his good arm.

“Mmmm? What’s up?”

Steve crossed the room in a few quick steps and sat down on the bed next to him.

“Jesus Buck. Are you high again?”

For some reason, Bucky could actually feel shame start to spiral out in little pulses through his chest. He knew what a fucked up mess he was. He knew what happened at school if he didn’t constantly mute the anxiety with the pills. But it was break—two days before Christmas—and his parents were out at some convention showing their support for some hotshot new Republican in congress and Rebecca was out somewhere with friends and he knew Steve was coming over to actually hang out and talk and hopefully piece together some semblance of normalcy from their slowly shattering friendship.

He knew Steve hated it when he was on pills, but his arm was just killing him so he just broke down and he took one. The scars from the surgery were constantly itching and pulling tight with every movement, but it was inside the skin, as the bone and metal started growing together, that was sending fiery bursts of pain jolting through his body. So he took one.

He looked down at the dark blanket on his bed and mumbled,

“ ‘m sorry Steve. It…everything…it just hurts right now. Sorry.”

Steve laid down and curled up next to him, keeping his arm tucked in between their chests, careful—always so careful—to not brush his left side. He fit so perfectly up against him. It suddenly felt like they were kids again and determined to spend the entire night outside in the train car because they were superheroes dammit and sometimes superheroes needed to spend a night in the cold holed up while they were waiting for the bad guys to come but even superheroes got cold and had to curl up against each other for warmth,

“Buck? Buck?!”

Shit, his mind was drifting off again…

“Buck! You don’t have to apologize…God. I’m the one who should be sorry. Look—if it’s hurting you should absolutely take the pills—that’s what the doctor gave them to you for. I’m sorry man. I…”

He paused as if fighting for the right words.

“I just don’t like seeing you hurting. And dependent on…or feeling like…you have to rely on pills to get you through a day? You know what I mean?”

He was speaking in to Bucky’s chest, had curled his head up there and Bucky could feel the vibrations of his voice reverberating deep in his chest and God he wished more than anything that they were twelve and fourteen again and none of this shit had happened. He wished more than anything that Steve would poke his head up and offer to sketch him and Bucky would oblige, sneaking glances every now and then of that tousled blonde hair falling into blue eyes, those pensive, thoughtful creases Steve would get in his forehead as he carefully studied the page looking for errors, and maybe Bucky would make some smart-ass comment just to see that smile, just to listen to the glorious bell tones of his laugh,

it was the pills, he thought. It had to be the pills…

“Steve?” he whispered, and Steve poked his head up and looked directly into his eyes and Bucky moved forward and their lips were suddenly touching, they were amazingly touching and he snaked his right hand up behind Steve’s head and pushed forward more insistently his heart abruptly threatening to tear itself right out of his chest, Steve’s mouth fit so perfectly—so softly—against his own, and the moment felt so right and so flawless and so blue,

and Bucky’s eyes flew open as Steve pushed violently away and jumped off of the bed holding his hand up to his mouth, breathing hard,

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, Steve I’m sorry,” Bucky managed to stammer out, heart throwing itself up against his chest aggressively trying to break free of its confines and there was still just the smallest sliver of hope, oh no, oh shit what did he just do,

“Umm…” Steve looked wildly around, lost for words, backing up slowly,

“Steve, wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…it was the pills man, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine Buck…umm… I just…I guess I didn’t realize that you were actually gay…I mean, the guys on the team all said…I just didn’t realize…”

Bucky felt like his entire body was being hit with that baseball bat back in the locker room, like everything was shattering inside of him, shame and despair and utter humiliation leeching forth and he was trying hard not to cry,

“The guys…from the team…” he stammered out

“Oh, I mean,they are assholes, but I mean…they kept telling me you were gay,and I just didn’t realize—”

“Steve, I fucked up…it was the pills…”

Steve held up his hand as if to stop him, “No, Buck! It’s fine, it’s really fine…It’s fine if you are! I’m…I’m just not like that…”

and his heart was breaking in his chest, there was no moving past this, his heart was filling with shards of bone and metal,

“Hey, uh, I should get going…I forgot about…this errand I need to run…” Steve suddenly bent over at his backpack and shuffled around a bit then stood up and pressed a folder full of papers into Bucky’s hand.

“These were for you, uhh, Happy Christmas you know? I’ll see you soon…”

and just like that he was gone from the room and Bucky didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know what just happened, why would he do that, what was wrong with him, why would he think—

the folder fell out of his hand and drawings spilled out all over the carpet—drawings of the train fort and of Bucky lying down with a book and of Steve and Bucky laughing together and of Bucky with his eyes closed, and of Bucky leaning back against the wooden paneling and looking at something far in the distance and of Bucky and of Bucky and of Bucky and there was a note penned in Steve’s quick hand:

and he started to cry.

Rebecca was sorting files into various cubby holes against the wall of the office when Bucky walked back into the room looking pissed as all hell and missing a good four inches of hair.

“Holy Shit who the hell are you and what did you do with my nineties era Trent Reznor-channeling brother?”

Bucky shot her a look of death and self-consciously raised his hand to touch his shortened mane.

“Seriously Bex don’t go there right now.”

She laughed and reached her hands up to his head to tangle her fingers in the short curls.

“Don’t get me wrong—grunge suited you. But damn Bucky, this is even better!”

She turned her head briefly and called over her shoulder,

“Steve! Steve get over here quick!” Bucky ducked out of her grip.

“Come on Bex, don’t rub it in…”

This was hilarious! He was so uncomfortable, so painfully self-conscious without the hair to hide behind, to look all menacing behind,

“Steve seriously get over her now!”

“I’m coming!” She heard from over a monitor from the far corner. She turned back to Bucky, still grinning.

“So who the hell put you up to this, you clown?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Who do you think? Big important media filled announcement tonight son…” he mimicked George.

“Yeah, that totally figures,” she said. “Well, sorry you had to lose your whole tall, dark and mysterious persona you had going there but really, it does look good, Steven Grant Rogers get over here!”

“I’m coming!” he yelled from the corner.

“Oh my God, he is such a pain in my ass, come here,” she grabbed Bucky and dragged him back to the corner where Steve was busy transcribing phone numbers into an outdated Excel document. He paused for a moment,

“I said I was coming Rebecca,” and then looked up and froze.

                “Oh. wow. Buck.”

Rebecca looked back and forth between the two idiots and sighed dramatically.

 “Jesus, you two should be in the drama program. I swear there is more emotional tension between the two of you then any gay guys I have ever met.”

Bucky suddenly threw her a look of death and…something else she couldn’t quite peg… and she stuck both hands up in mock surrender.

“Woah…heel Kujo. I’m kidding…God!” She moved over to Steve and perched herself right in his lap—the guy was so convenient to have around, like a big, fluffy, overgrown teddy bear.

“Seriously though Steve—he looks like highschool Bucky again!”

Steve nodded slowly. “Yeah. You look…real good Buck.”

She smiled, content that she had gotten the exact shocked and ruffled display of emotions out of him that she had been going for. It was super fun, all this emoting nonsense. Whenever she got bored of being a drama queen, or just felt like no one was currently paying her enough attention, she would maneuver some series of random events to try and make someone else produce a suitably theatrical emotion. Lately, she was getting really good at it. Worryingly good at it. Chalk it up to her genetic Barnes ability to manipulate.

“Oh hey, Bucky?” She suddenly spoke again, “What are you up to tonight? Any amazing plans? I mean, obviously I don’t want to hinder your ability to roam free and wild and maybe try something new by picking up chicks of the ‘not into the greasy, strung-out, most likely addicted to heroin’ variety, but if you are free—”

“Christ, Bex, cut it out. It’s just a frickin’ haircut,”

“No, no I know, I just thought I’d see if you wanted to come with us tonight? Steve has this art show, well, I mean, The Art League—you know, out in Alexandria? They are the ones having the show, their annual student/faculty exhibit and Steve’s work will be there, well like six or eight pieces or something?”

She looked down at Steve for confirmation and he just was staring back at her with that completely moronic ‘deer in the headlights’ look of his that he seemed to reserve just for her,

“Well anyways, his art will be there and I thought you might like to join us? You know…see some of the stuff he has done…because seriously Bucky he’s really amazing and I know you used to appreciate stuff like that, at least back in high school you did, maybe your tastes chang—”

“Oh my God Bex,” Bucky cut in. “You would think they would teach you how to control that awful word-vomit habit of yours back at acting school or whatever. Yeah. Sure. I’d love to come with you guys. That alright with you?” He cocked his head at Steve.

Steve who was still gawking at her. Steve who practically had drool starting to drip from the corners of his mouth from the apparent massive case of lockjaw he appeared to have developed in the last two minutes. He shook his head suddenly and spun to look back at Bucky.

“Yeah—of course you can come,” he answered.

Bucky looked really happy. Rebecca was quite pleased with herself. Maneuvering. Easy-peasy. Now Bucky had something to do besides sit in misery in his cramped little ghetto apartment, and he even looked happy about it, and she did that! And Bucky was talking again, she really needed to start paying attention when other people started speaking…

“Ok, cool. When should I meet you guys there?”

Rebecca answered, “Oh, I think Steve will probably be there early on, but I am catching the metro around seven if you wanted to meet and go up together?”

“Perfect.” Bucky checked his watch then looked back at her. “Ok, I need to go find Andrew. I have a few issues I need to discuss with him…”

She watched him drop his stuff all behind the big desk and then head back out the door. Then she turned back to Steve, who still seemed to be having problems closing his mouth and breathing like a normal human being. She tapped his forehead.

“Hey. Earth to Steve. What the hell man?”

He looked back up at her.

“Sorry. I just…” He seemed to be fumbling for words. “I just wish you wouldn’t have invited him without talking to me first, you know? That stuff is kind of personal…”

“Steve, come on! It’s just Bucky. Anyways, I’ve seen the art, it’s just a bunch of pen and ink and shadowy people sitting in the dark. How personal could it be?”

Steve stiffed ever so slightly underneath her and she suddenly clapped a hand over her mouth and felt horrible.

“Oh my God Steve, I am so sorry. I am such an asshole. I didn’t mean it like that! Of course, it’s your art, it’s all personal, and it’s all really really good, I mean it! I am so sorry, Jesus sometimes I think you should just invest in a large roll of duct tape and keep it on you at all times so you can apply it liberally to my mouth as needed…”

“No, no Rebecca. It’s fine.”

She felt a wave of relief. She was such a giant bitch sometimes, but she really loved the guy. He was so easy going, and so willing to forgive her when she was being a horrible human being. She hated that about herself—that she could cut someone down that quickly and easily and not even realize she was doing it.

“I can un-invite him you know? It can just be the two of us, if that’s what you wanted?”

Steve looked her right in the eyes, his gaze intense, studying, like he was desperately trying to find the answer to life’s eternal mysteries in that specific moment of time.

“…no…” he answered slowly, “no, it will be fine. You are right, they aren’t that personal…it will be fine…”

She leaned over and kissed him.

“Thank you hun. He just, he looked so happy when I invited him, and I want him to be happy here and to have friends here, and really I just want you both to be friends again, I am SO happy you guys went out together the other night, I know I told you that already, but it is really so good for him,”

Steve reached out a finger to her lips.

“Rebecca. He is fine. You have to stop worrying about fixing everyone in your family. You have to. Worry about you. And if you have any extra time you can worry about me too.” He grinned. “Spend the time on us.” He kissed her again, and she felt giddy stars, because how could she not feel giddy stars every time she was remotely near beautiful, gorgeous, perfect Steve Rogers.