neither of them have ever denied that their work comes with an unavoidable amount of risk. they can wear gear and take precautions, and they do, but that doesn’t always mean they’ll make it out. they’ve both lost people, but sometimes it’s easy to still feel distant about the whole thing. the idea that something may really tear them apart one day is incomprehensible — right up until the only thing between them is a man holding a gun. figures, they never do get the easy shifts.
underneath fear, anger, some irrational plain irritation — sympathy lingers. as they’re corralled into a smaller room, a hospital bed holding a fragile lookin’ kid comes into view, and steve knows this is desperation in it’s rawest form. he doesn’t have it in him to be entirely generous, mostly because bucky’s still here, too, but he imagines charlie’s sweet face on that hospital bed and thinks he might understand the urge to tear the world apart for one more minute.
when he says let them walk out of here, he’s nodding towards two nurses struck still by bedside. bucky gets tucked under this umbrella by miracle, or sheer force of will, hesitating where the others are quick to make their exit, because of course he does. it’s not until the man - george - starts waving the damn thing around in buck’s direction with a demand that he ‘go, get out’ that steve moves, a step towards standing between them. ❛ hey, he’s going. ❜ tone calm, steady, but when he locks eyes with bucky lips are set in a thin line. ❛ he’s going. ❜
bucky wouldn’t want to hear it, but steve feels infinitely better once he’s gone. faced with the possibility so immediate, steve knows that if something goes very wrong here charlie will be safe, loved, with the person he trusts most in the world. they’d both be less lonely for it, without steve, and he can take comfort in that. he pulls up a chair by the ventilator, silent while the man speaks in quiet tones to his son. then there’s silence, and steve’s never really known to hold his tongue.
❛ you know, I have a kid too. ❜ and so they talk. and talk. and talk. he’s not sure how much time’s passed, or what’s being said to the other when he picks up the phone, but he’s seen hostage negotiation from the other end. mostly, he thinks about charlie, and bucky, and his own endless stupidity that comes to light in the worst moments. it’s what he thinks about even as the gun gets put down, as the kid wakes up, as they’re both escorted out of the building. it’s more or less chaos outside, but the very first thing he really sees is, of course, bucky. he barely sees him, really, before he’s being pulled into a bone crushing hug, muttering assurances of i’m okay, i’m fine, i’m here.
there’s a lot circling his mind, but at the forefront is how thick he’s been about one single question. he’s been so worried about how and why and when, but none of it’s really important. even if bucky says he’s not ready, what matters is that he get the chance. in direct contradiction to that very thought, he doesn’t give bucky a moment to say anything when there’s some space between them. presses a kiss to his forehead, the bridge of his nose. blurts out something he should’ve along time ago, blue eyes and unwavering determination. ❛ i’ve been trying to ask you to move in with me. ❜
suffice to say he’s encountered plenty of dangerous situations at his job — he’s a firefighter, after all, and brooklyn just never seems to give ‘em a break — but perhaps nothing could come close to being quite as volatile as the hostage situation they had the misfortune to be dragged into. underneath the stoicity of his expression, a stubborn refusal to let emotions show, there’s a line of dread that courses through him. questions about how either of them were going to make it out of this unharmed, and what would happen if that didn’t happen, remain on the forefront of his mind; especially as their kidnappers find the photo of charlie tucked in steve’s wallet, and the stakes are raised impossibly higher.
their top priority remains in getting innocent civilians out of there before further defusing the situation: but of course, steve’s there to make sure he gets out of it, too. had bucky been put in the same spot, bucky knows he would’ve done the same in a heartbeat — but now he can only watch, heart conflicted, as he’s led away and out of the room. night has already descended by the time he gets out. if he had to guess, it’s probably been hours since their shift was supposed to end: and without his phone, sam — who was put in charge of babysitting duty today — will have no idea why. the building’s been surrounded by lights flashing in red, white, and blue, the rest of his team safely evacuated from their last job, but nat’s the first one that gets him to feel anything other than numb. “he’s still in there, nat, i can’t—” and thank god she doesn’t let him finish that sentence, and pulls him into an embrace instead.
it feels like more hours have passed before he sees steve again: they’re standing away from all of the sirens and the commotion, but bucky doesn’t waste any time before he’s got his arms around the other, needing to feel him solid and warm and alive against him. mind is racing a mile a minute — but steve barely gives him a chance to catch his breath, let alone check him over for injuries, or tell him how worried he made bucky, before he’s asking him the question like it isn’t so life changing. at least all of the past conversations that involved him dancing around the subject suddenly begin to make sense, now. “you’re an idiot,” he says before looping his arms around steve’s neck again, wanting to keep him close. “are you sure about this?” it’s one thing for them to take this step, but with charlie in the picture things were a little more complicated.
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