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Love Is Not A Victory March - Cap RBB

Stucky, M, 14.3k, A03 Canon compliant through CACW Artist: SulaMoon Author: flowerfan2

Thanks to @sulasaferoom for creating the amazing artwork that inspired me, to my beta @perryavenue for being the world's best beta, and to everyone at @capreversebb for running this amazing challenge.

Summary: A few months after the civil war fiasco, Bucky and Steve have started a new life together in New York. But when Steve gets hurt, all their plans are threatened. It’s up to Bucky to figure out what to do next.

Bucky feels like a cliché as he hovers next to Steve’s hospital bed, waiting for him to wake up. He can’t relax with Steve in this condition – fuck relax, he can barely breathe, barely function at all. Steve is ripped apart and broken and Bucky doesn’t understand how he isn’t dead yet. Although they are keeping him heavily sedated, Bucky can see the pain etched into Steve’s face. He’s not sure how to weather it, alternating between pacing back and forth across the airless room and sitting next to Steve and holding his practically lifeless hand.He’s not the only visitor there, of course. No one is about to leave a recently de-triggered former assassin alone with Captain America, even if Captain America himself would insist that there’s no danger. But Steve isn’t able to insist on anything right now, and that’s the entire problem. The first time the doctors ease up on the sedation Steve wakes up moaning, a horrid, animal noise that sends Bucky into a blind panic. Bucky comes back to himself curled up in a ball on the hospital floor, Natasha crouched down next to him, a hand bravely kneading the back of his neck. “It’s okay,” she murmurs. “They gave him more painkillers. He’s okay now.” Bucky lets Natasha help him up, but avoids meeting her eyes as he resumes his place at the side of Steve’s bed. He doesn’t need her pity. Bucky just needs Steve to wake up. He can’t fathom what will happen to him if Steve doesn’t wake up.

It would be the most ironic end to their story, Bucky thinks – miraculously back together again, in a world where what they had always danced around could maybe, actually be possible – but without the time to figure it out.

It had only been a few months since the whole civil war fiasco, after which Bucky had removed himself from the situation by going into cryo in Wakanda. Part of him had hoped Steve would talk him out of it, convince Bucky with earnest pleading not to put himself under, tell Bucky he couldn’t stand to be apart from him for a moment longer. But it didn’t go that way. Bucky knew Steve was probably just trying to respect his wishes. As soon as Bucky was frozen, however, and safely under T’Challa’s care, Steve apparently started moving mountains around to find a cure for Bucky, and to figure out what they would do when he eventually woke back up.

Amidst all the research and sciencing, Thor had showed up one day and listened solemnly to the Wakandan doctors explain the situation. Three days later Thor brought a specialist from Asgard to examine Bucky. Within twenty-four hours, Bucky’s mind was his own.

Now, only weeks since getting back to the States, it’s Bucky who is left awake and aware while Steve’s unconscious body lies unresponsive in front of him.

In the hospital later that day more Avengers crowd in, all wanting to show how concerned they are, but Bucky doesn’t move from his spot. He lays his head down on the bed next to Steve’s arm and ignores everyone. His tired mind can only do one thing at a time right now, and that one thing is listening to Steve breathe. Let the rest of them argue about aliens, and impossible weapons, and strategy. He’s got a job to do, and it doesn’t involve anything except staying right here, his hand on Steve’s chest, feeling it rise and fall and rise again, steady despite it all.

Hours go by. Doctors come in and out. They all agree that keeping Steve sedated is the best thing for him right now. There will be another surgery soon, but not yet, they say. Let him rest until morning.

Bucky’s dozing when he hears a new voice, low and urgent. Fury, talking with Coulson. Bucky doesn’t quite understand how the two of them relate to each other. In his short exposure to them, Bucky prefers Coulson. The conversation he overhears does little to change his mind.

“What the hell happened?” Fury hisses, in a tone that implies that whatever it was, Coulson was to blame.

But Coulson doesn’t take the bait. “They moved fast,” he says calmly. “Too fast for our team. They shorted out Stark’s suit, got Cap’s shield away from him, and blasted something at Nat and Clint that knocked them out for too long. Cap went at them head on, with nothing but his fists.”

“Why didn’t he call for backup?” Fury asks.

“And let his team get eaten by giant lizards?” Coulson replies. “Have you met him, Director?”

“Nearly got eaten himself,” Fury grumbles.

“Would have, if not for Barnes.”

Bucky holds himself still, even though the sound of his name makes him want to cringe. He isn’t supposed to be involved with Avenger business. It’s not clear to Bucky whether they think he’s not ready yet, or if they don’t want him anywhere near civilians with a weapon – other than his new metal hand, of course, courtesy of T’Challa, which SHIELD has graciously let him keep.

But when the team went out on an emergency call this morning, rushing to stop the giant alien lizards who were on a rampage in Central Park, Bucky went too. He didn’t tell Steve, just slipped out of their Greenwich Village apartment a few moments later, keeping to the shadows as he trailed him uptown.

When Steve had to choose between blocking the lizard that was heading for Natasha, and the larger one that was heading for a group of school children, Bucky took out the one threatening his teammate, clean and quick. Steve saw him then, sent him a grateful look, and then continued on to fight the larger lizard. Bucky fought next to Nat until she came out of her daze, but when he looked around again for Steve, three more giant lizards had appeared, even bigger than the others. And somehow Steve had lost his shield.

By the time Bucky got into position to take a shot, one of the lizards had Steve pinned. Then it grabbed Steve by the leg and shook him back and forth through the air. Bucky could feel his heart slow, his vision close down to focus only on making the shot as the lizard thrashed, Steve hanging like a rag doll from its mouth. Bucky shot the lizard, bullet finding its mark in the lizard’s eye. But he could do nothing as Steve crashed to the ground.

The rest of the battle was a blur. He stood over Steve, shooting anything that came near, not letting himself think about whether Steve was dead or alive. Stark managed to reboot his suit, and eventually they incapacitated all of the lizards. At some point Natasha convinced Bucky to put down his gun, saying that they wouldn’t let him into the ambulance with Steve unless he stopped aiming it at the paramedics.

And now he’s here, uselessly sitting at Steve’s bedside. Steve’s got broken ribs, a fractured collarbone, and a broken wrist – all of which will heal in a few days. What has even Dr. Banner truly worried, though, is the damage to his leg.

Bucky saw it, just a glimpse, as they loaded Steve into the ambulance. From mid-thigh to ankle, Steve’s right leg is ripped apart, mangled almost beyond recognition. He’s not sure the serum is a match for this kind of butchery. No one is.

They’re operating on Steve in stages, trying to accommodate whatever healing Steve’s body will do itself, and not interfere. Bucky heard the doctors arguing about pins, and metal plates, and regeneration. Stark was there too, hands flying as he described his ideas for fixing Steve.

None of that is Bucky’s problem, however. Not like they’d listen to him, anyway. He will simply sit here next to Steve, for as long as they let him. Count his heartbeats; listen to him breathe. He can do that much.

They take Steve away for surgery again the next morning. Bucky waits in the room, sitting on the floor in a corner. Natasha brings him some food in a bag, and he eats it, hoping it won’t just come back up.

She stays with him for a while, not making him talk, just a warm presence at his side. Her red hair is longer than he remembered it from before he went into cryo in Wakanda, and it falls over her face when she leans her head on her knees.

It’s hours before they bring Steve back to the room. Coulson tells them that the surgery went well, that Steve’s femur seems to be healing itself already, although the bones in the lower part of his leg are shattered and may not come together on their own. They’re considering a knee implant, but haven’t decided yet, they want to wait and see.

“They want to wake him up in a little while,” Coulson says, giving Bucky a level stare. “If you can be present, it might help.”

Bucky grits his teeth. “You mean, try not to faint and actually be useful.”

The edge of Coulson’s mouth twitches with the hint of a smile. “Yeah, that’s what I mean.”

Bucky’s right there when Steve opens his eyes. Steve has trouble focusing at first, but then he sees Bucky, and something in his expression relaxes even through the pain.

“Bucky…”

“Hey, pal. Try not to move, okay?” Bucky puts a hand to Steve’s face, then pulls it back, settling for resting it on his shoulder.

“Everything hurts.”

“Yeah, you got pretty beat up.”

“Never liked lizards.”

Bucky chokes on a laugh. “No, me neither.”

A doctor comes closer and Steve shifts his attention to her, doing his best to answer her questions. She gives him a run-down of his injuries when he asks. Bucky sees Steve’s face grow even paler, and he finds his uninjured hand and gives it a squeeze.

“You’re already healing fast, you’re gonna be fine,” Bucky whispers when the doctor turns away.

But Steve doesn’t look convinced, craning his neck to try to see his leg – but there’s nothing to see, blankets pulled up over bandages and braces.

A different doctor comes to talk to Steve about pain level and meds. He opts for a lighter level of sedation, and so he’s still awake when the doctors finally leave the room.

“Tell me the truth, Buck. How bad is it?”

Bucky doesn’t hesitate. “Real bad, Steve.”

“Is it, um…” Steve waves a hand down towards his leg, grimacing as he jostles his broken collarbone. “Is it still there?”

Bucky curses himself for not heading this one off sooner. “Yeah, buddy. Your leg’s still there. No metal leg for you yet.” He pauses, waits for Steve’s barely there smile, then goes on. “But there’s a lot of damage to your bones and muscles. Knee’s pretty messed up.” Fucking monster bit off half your leg, Bucky thinks. It’s a miracle you’re still alive. He tries to think of something positive to say. “Some of it’s already healing.”

“But they don’t think it will all heal?” Steve’s voice is small, so much smaller than it should ever be.

“No one knows. It’s too soon to tell.”

Steve nods. “Right.”

“You always healed before, though. You’ll be okay.”

Steve’s eyes drift shut, then open again, finding Bucky. “You’ll stay?”

Bucky sits back down in the chair, about as familiar now as the furniture in their new apartment. “I’ll be right here.”

“Good.”

The next time Steve wakes up, he looks even worse than before. There are bags under his eyes, and pain etched into his face.

“Sure you don’t want the better drugs?” Bucky asks, plucking an ice chip out of a cup with his metal fingers and placing it carefully on Steve’s tongue.

“No. Maybe… maybe later.” Steve swallows hard. “There’s something I remembered, that we need to talk about.”

This can’t be good, Bucky thinks, but he obediently sits back down and clasps his hands together in his lap, the cool vibranium one and the sweaty flesh one.

“Okay.”

“I made a deal,” Steve says, his eyes flickering away from Bucky’s and then back again. “So we could come back to the States after you woke up.”

“This isn’t like that job you took with those mafia boys, delivering packages, is it?”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “They weren’t mafia.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“They paid better than Mr. Martin.”

“Case in point.” Bucky taps his foot nervously on the tile floor. “Stop deflecting, what did you do this time?”

Steve frowns. “I’m not deflecting, you’re the one that-”

“Steve.”

“Fine.” Steve pulls in a long breath, his hand going up to touch his collarbone as he does it. “Feels better now, actually.”

“Steve,” Bucky insists. “Focus.”

“Right, okay. Well, you know I’m not going to sign on to the Sekovia Accords. But I didn’t want us to have to be on the run forever, nice as Wakanda is. I had to get us both off the hook. Fury was anxious to keep the peace and reassure the public that I was still on board. So I made a deal with SHIELD.”

Bucky had figured as much, but it doesn’t explain Steve’s obvious concern. “What’s the hitch?”

“In exchange for immunity for us both, I have to keep being Captain America, for at least five years. I negotiated more leeway than the Sekovia agreement. I’ve got input into what I’ll do, and who’ll be on my team. I can refuse missions, and I don’t have to work for anyone but Coulson or, if not him, someone else I agree to.”

“Sounds okay.” Bucky huffs. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“If I stop – if I change my mind, and won’t be Captain America anymore, they can reverse the deal. Take away the immunity.”

A cold shiver runs down Bucky’s spine. “You said if you won’t do it anymore… what if you can’t?”

Steve closes his eyes, his hands fisting against the sheets. “I don’t remember what the agreement said. But I don’t think they’re just going to pay me disability and let me retire.”

Before Bucky can respond, a nurse comes in and fusses over Steve, then takes him away for more tests. Bucky watches him go, his mind spinning. After a while he settles down on the floor in the corner, and tries to get some sleep.

He hears Natasha come in before he opens his eyes, and realizes that she has been taking care of him assiduously ever since Steve was hurt. Probably about time he acknowledges it.

Natasha gracefully lowers herself to the floor next to him, a paper cup of coffee in her hand. “Sugar?”

“Little soon for pet names, don’t you think?”

Natasha guffaws, coffee spewing out of her mouth.

“Barnes,” she chokes, “damn.” She wipes the coffee spot on her pants with her hand, and looks at him intently, as if seeing him for the first time. Maybe she is. “How are you?”

Bucky shrugs. “Trying to figure out how to stay out of jail.”

Natasha sits up a little straighter and sets her shoulders. “I’m in. Go.”

******

Thanks to Natasha, Bucky finds himself in Hell’s Kitchen that night, trailing a man wearing a dark suit and sunglasses. The man is using a cane, tapping it back and forth on the sidewalk in front of him as he walks. Bucky thinks he has gotten a bit cocky about it – even Bucky can tell he doesn’t really need it.

Bucky watches him go into an unimpressive brick building, and notes the dark sign reading “Nelson and Murdock – Attorneys at Law” mounted next to the door. Guess he’s working late tonight – but at least Bucky knows he’s in the right place.

He checks the alleys and the side streets, getting acquainted with the location, and then vaults up on to the fire escape. He’s in the same jeans he’s had on for almost a week, a clean long-sleeved blue t-shirt courtesy of Natasha, a sweatshirt jacket with the hood up, and a brown leather jacket that Steve bought him when they got to New York. Not exactly his first choice for scaling buildings, but Natasha had convinced him that showing up at Murdock’s office in full Winter Soldier gear might be counterproductive.

When he finds the window to Murdock’s office, he stills, listening. Murdock’s alone in the room, although he can hear other voices nearby. He peeks into the window, and when he assures himself that he’s not going to get a better opportunity, slides it open and jumps inside in one smooth movement.

Murdock is instantly on guard, his posture revealing that he’s more than just an office worker.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Bucky says quietly. “A friend said you could help me.”

Murdock tilts his head, takes a few steps away from his desk. Closer to the exit, and his still unaware colleagues.

“What did you have in mind?”

Bucky slides his hood off of his head, and lets Murdock look him over – blind or not, he’s got some kind of vision, it’s clear. “I’m Bucky Barnes. My friend Steve Rogers has a legal problem.”

If this wasn’t so important, Bucky would be amused by the awed expression that appears briefly on Murdock’s face, quickly smoothing into something more professional.

“Holy crap, did you say Bucky Barnes?” Another man bursts into the room, and Bucky clamps down hard on the urge to draw his gun.

“Foggy, please,” Murdock sighs.

The man approaches Bucky, hand out to shake. He’s not nearly as trim as his partner, and his messy hair looks like it hasn’t been brushed in days. But his face is open and warm, and Bucky finds himself almost grinning as he takes his hand.

“Franklin Nelson. Call me Foggy. I’m Matt’s law partner.” Foggy finally lets go of Bucky’s hand and steps back, hands on his hips. “Wow. Bucky Barnes.”

“In the flesh,” Bucky deadpans, daring them to look at his metal arm. They do.

“Mr. Barnes, please, take a seat,” Murdock finally says, and Foggy hurries to pull out a chair for him. “Why don’t you tell us how we can help you?”

Bucky’s got a copy of the agreement between Steve and SHIELD on his phone, and he holds it out for Murdock. There’s a bit of a shuffle as Foggy takes it from Bucky – guess there are some things Murdock can’t actually see, or at least doesn’t want anyone to know he can see – and finds the relevant provisions as Bucky explains the situation.

After some discussion, Murdock takes a breath, and Foggy stops rambling, waiting for him to speak.

“It’s pretty tightly written.”

“I have an idea,” Bucky interrupts, before Murdock can say there’s no hope and throw him out of his office. “If you can get them to agree.”

They listen, Foggy practically bouncing on his toes.

“It might actually work,” Murdock says.

“You’d do that?” Foggy asks. “You’d do that for him?”

Bucky shoots Foggy a sharp look. “I’d do anything for him.” Foggy may be a fanboy, but he clearly doesn’t know Bucky as well as he thinks he does.

******

Bucky makes it back to the hospital well before dawn, ignoring the curt nods from the security goons posted outside Steve’s door. Natasha had assured him that everyone assigned to Steve’s detail was trustworthy, but they’re not on Bucky’s (very) short list of people who actually fit that bill.

She’s in the room when he gets there, sitting on the floor in the corner, reading something on her phone. Bucky spends a few moments standing by Steve’s side, matching his breathing to Steve’s, and listening to his heart beat. When he’s satisfied that Steve is stable, sleeping as peacefully as someone in his condition could sleep, he joins Natasha on the floor.

“Good meeting?” she asks, attention still on her phone.

“Good meeting,” he replies. “Thanks.”

She sighs and slides the device into a pocket, finally raising her head to look him over. Her gray-green eyes are clear, assessing him calmly. “Okay if I get some sleep?” Can you take the next watch? is her unspoken question.

Bucky nods. “Go ahead.”

Wasting no time, Natasha closes her eyes and crosses her arms across her chest, leaning her head back against the wall. Bucky listens to the clock on the wall tick softly and tries to let himself relax, too. He slides an inch or two closer to Natasha, who snorts softly and then leans her head against Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky’s not sure why Natasha trusts him the way she does, but he can’t help feeling profoundly grateful for it. He imagines it is tied up in her dedication to Steve, which makes as much sense to him as anything does these days. She’s been looking out for him on Steve’s behalf since she let them get away at that airport in Leipzig. But it’s not all just because of Steve, not with the way she is so carefully gentle with Bucky, yet never shows an ounce of pity. She understands.

He knows it’s only a matter of time before Natasha gets called away on a mission, but for now, there’s no one else he would rather have backing him up.

Steve wakes in the early hours of the morning, a slow groan getting Bucky up on his feet and checking him over, fingers brushing lightly down his arms.

“Buck?”

“I’m here, Steve. You’re okay.”

Steve blinks up at him, good hand reaching out to grab his arm, then falling back down on the bed. “’m still in the ‘ospital.”

They must have given him the stronger sedative during the night, Bucky thinks, taking Steve’s hand and holding it in his. “Yeah, pal, you’re still in the hospital. But you’re okay. You’re safe. Go back to sleep.”

“’kay.”

Bucky stands there for a while, holding Steve’s hand. The tenderness he feels looking at Steve’s sleeping face is almost paralyzing. Steve is so strong, Bucky knows he’s going to pull through this. He has to. There’s no other option.

*****

A week goes by, and Steve does get stronger, as Bucky knew he would. They don’t talk about the immunity deal again. Bucky’s biding his time. He figures that even SHIELD will give Steve a few weeks of peace before raising the issue.

But it’s Steve himself that pushes it, in the end. He’s just had another surgery, and the doctors are explaining how they are placing and removing artificial components in his knee as his body actually regenerates bones and cartilage.

“We’re getting a good feel for how quickly your body heals itself in this type of situation,” Dr. Cohen says, showing Steve her tablet and swiping through several screens. “If your progress continues at this rate, I’d estimate that the majority of your knee will be reformed in six to eight weeks.”

“I’ll be able to walk?” Steve asks, and Bucky’s heart slams into his stomach. Geez, get right to the hard questions, why don’t you?

“It’s much too soon to tell,” Dr. Cohen says, choosing her words carefully. “We just don’t know how far the serum will take you. But with physical therapy there’s a good chance you’ll get back significant use of your leg.”

Steve accepts this, but Bucky isn’t as polite.

“What the hell does ‘significant use’ mean?” He turns to the other doctor. “You’re the ortho. What do you think?”

“Dr. Lopez and I are on the same page,” Dr. Cohen begins, but Bucky interrupts her.

“Pretty sure she can speak for herself.”

“Bucky,” Steve interjects, “it’s okay.”

Dr. Lopez raises her hands in a placating motion. “Everyone, take a deep breath. I know this is a terrible situation for both of you, and you’re worried about Steve.” She directs this last bit at Bucky. “I don’t blame you for being impatient. But there’s an awful lot we don’t know about what’s going on here. Frankly, no normal person would have survived what happened to Steve. The blood loss alone would have been too much.”

Bucky doesn’t realize Steve is holding his hand until he feels a squeeze grounding him.

“I can tell you this, though,” Dr. Lopez continues. “In all my years of working with SHIELD, with inhumans and aliens and all kinds of unusual biological situations, I’ve never seen anyone heal quite the way Steve does. It’s organic, and it’s not magic, but it’s putting him back together. I’m hopeful that he’ll make a full recovery.”

Dr. Cohen shakes her head a little, clearly annoyed that Dr. Lopez has gone off script. “You can’t promise that,” she mutters. “The muscles in his calf…”

“Are healing well,” Dr. Lopez says. “Look, Dr. Cohen is right. We aren’t promising anything. But if your body is able to put up with these continued surgeries, and lets us guide the process, I really do think you’ll be on your feet again.”

Steve digests this. “Thanks. It helps to think about it that way.” He takes in a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. “But – best case scenario. What’s the soonest you think I’ll be back to one hundred percent?”

The doctors exchange a look, and then Dr. Lopez responds. “Best case scenario? Three to four months.”

As the doctors leave the room and a nurse steps in to check the dressing on Steve’s leg, Bucky notices Coulson lurking outside the doorway. Although Coulson never really looks like he’s lurking, more like he just happened to innocently walk by at the same moment you notice his presence.

Bucky follows the doctors out, and Coulson turns to come with him.

“Cup of coffee?” Coulson asks, and Bucky nods. They walk down the hall to the crappy coffee machine in the small sitting area, and Coulson pours a cup for Bucky, then one for himself. He leans against the countertop, pristine in his dark suit and white shirt, and waits.

Bucky takes a sip of the coffee – lukewarm and terrible as always. “I’m guessing you heard that?” Bucky says. There’s no way he didn’t.

“I did. Sounds like Captain Rogers has some work ahead of him.”

“But not Captain America work,” Bucky says, watching Coulson’s face. The man is a pro, however, and Bucky can’t read a thing. “Here.” Bucky takes Murdock’s business card of his jeans pocket, and hands it to Coulson. “Give him a call.”

He downs the rest of his coffee, tosses the paper cup in the garbage, and goes back to Steve’s room. His message has been delivered; now he’ll let Murdock do his job.

The nurse is leaving as Bucky enters the room. Steve looks up at him. Bucky can tell he’s debating his next words.

“I talked to Coulson,” Bucky says, and Steve lets out a breath. Just because Steve hasn’t mentioned the immunity deal and the possible consequence of him not being able to do his job as Captain America doesn’t mean he hasn’t been thinking about it. “We’re going to work it out. Don’t worry.”

Steve takes this at face value, and he relaxes. “Good, that’s good.” His eyes drift close. “Thanks, Bucky.”

Don’t thank me yet, Bucky thinks, but he sits down next to Steve and takes his hand. Steve squeezes it softly, then drifts off, and Bucky is left to wonder how in hell he is going to tell Steve what his clever plan actually involves.

*****

Another week goes by. To say Steve is getting antsy would be like saying Bucky is a decent shot – it doesn’t begin to describe the intensity of Steve’s impatience with hospital life.

“I just don’t understand why they can’t let me go home,” Steve whines for the hundredth time that day. They’re letting him sit up now, the bed cranked up to support him, but it doesn’t do much to soothe his mood.

“Probably has something to do with the fact that your knee has to be stabilized and they’re operating on you every three days,” Bucky answers. It’s pretty much the same thing he’s been saying all morning.

“I could come back for the surgeries.”

“It’s your knee, Steve. Kinda important.”

“Why don’t they just rip the whole thing off and start over?”

“What, your leg?”

Steve looks abashed, but then nods. “Yeah, I mean, it worked for you.”

Bucky stills, about to lash out at Steve with a reminder about how it really, really didn’t work for him, but then figures a guy who has been immobile in bed for going on a month probably deserves a break. He’s trying to calm himself into a more reasoned response when Steve speaks up again.

“I’m sorry, Buck, that was a stupid thing to say.”

Bucky just nods, eyes trained on the floor.

“You never told me about how you got the arm. It must not have been easy.”

He can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes from his throat. “Nope.”

“Tell me,” Steve says, face carefully neutral.

“You don’t need to hear it.” Stories about the torture Bucky underwent at Hydra’s hands don’t seem like appropriate bedside conversation.

“Maybe I do.”

Bucky meets Steve’s eyes, and sees the same caring, concerned expression that has been Steve’s modus operandi since they reunited. Fine, have it your way, he thinks. But it’s still hard to start. “There’s not much to tell. They had to try multiple times before they found a way to attach it that my body wouldn’t reject. And even then, the first few were too heavy.”

“You couldn’t use them?”

Bucky swallows hard. If only it were that simple. “One pulled off, when I was fighting. Took some of my shoulder with it. Don’t remember what happened after that.” Except overwhelming, searing agony. “But the next one was attached differently,” he waves his hand towards his chest, “deeper inside. It stayed on, but it hurt so much I passed out from the pain. They kept waking me up, over and over, shocking me, but I just passed out every time. When I woke up the next time, there was a new arm. And it was five years later.”

“Holy crap, Bucky,” Steve breathes out.

Bucky’s eyes are hot with tears, and he chokes down a sob as Steve’s arms come around his shoulders. “Steve, don’t, you shouldn’t move…”

“Shut up,” Steve mumbles, and lies back down against the bed, pulling Bucky with him. “Don’t need my leg to give you a hug.”

It’s awkward, lying on Steve’s chest, half on the bed and half off, but it’s the safest he’s felt in weeks. Steve holds him tight, and rubs his back, and Bucky lets himself cry.

*****

That afternoon, however, Steve starts up again about how he needs to get out of the hospital.

“I’m going crazy in here, Buck,” he insists. “I can’t sleep, with all the noise and the interruptions. And I bet you don’t sleep at all. That can’t be healthy for either of us.”

Bucky does sleep – when Natasha is there. But Steve does have a point.

“I don’t like it either,” Bucky admits. “But I don’t know what to tell you.”

Steve opens his mouth to complain some more, but then it’s as if a light bulb goes off in his head. “Buck, when’s the last time Tony asked you if there was anything he could do?”

Bucky takes out his phone and checks his text messages. “Forty-three minutes ago. He suggested bringing over shawarma for dinner.”

“Tell him to come. And get ready to see Howard’s son in action.”

Bucky has a feeling he’s not talking about Iron Man, and he’s right. Tony latches on to their problem like a dog with the very best bone in the entire yard. He’s like a whirlwind of ideas, with potential solutions coming so fast that he can hardly articulate the next challenge before he’s solved it.

“Newtower – that’s what I’m calling the new Avengers tower, didn’t like it at first, but Pepper does, less braggy, as if I care, but I do listen to her sometimes no matter what people say – absolutely the right place for you. Medical floor’s already built out, Rhodey’s there, PT guys are the best. Was hoping you and Barnes would come visit, your apartment’s got the coolest views, we can blow out the bathroom, make it accessible – you guys do want to live together, right? I mean I just assumed, everyone does, but I probably should have asked, I’m crap at that kind of thing, but there’s plenty of space if you don’t want to, we can give Barnes the one right next to yours…”

Tony goes on in this vein almost non-stop while Bucky and Steve eat dinner - Tony’s favorite shawarma wrapped in pita, chicken kabobs, and falafel with hummus. Steve looks happier than Bucky has seen him in a long time, and he starts to understand with a sickening lurch how much Steve really likes Tony, and how hard it must have been for him to fight him, even to save Bucky.

“Tell me your doctors’ names, I’ll talk to them tonight. Get your files to my medical people,” Tony continues, talking about specialists and procedures and new equipment he can have shipped overnight to the medical facility in the tower. “And I’ll just build it, if we can’t get one, I’ve got an idea-”

Tony abruptly stands up and leaves the room, and Steve smiles at Bucky. “We really are idiots for not thinking of this sooner.”

“He’s so nice to you,” Bucky blurts out. “Even after we…”

Steve shrugs. “We kissed and made up.” His face goes red. “Not literally, we didn’t actually kiss-”

Bucky laughs at Steve. For a guy who’s been holding his hand off and on for the past month, he’s awfully touchy about the implication. “I get it. But… how?”

“He knows it wasn’t your fault, what happened to his parents. And he understood why I didn’t tell him what little I knew. I guess he just needed some time to come to terms with it.”

“Still…”

“We’re a stronger team together than apart. And we all really want the same things.”

“Shawarma?” Bucky jokes.

Steve grins. “Sure. Truth, freedom, the elimination of Hydra, and shawarma.”

Over the next few days Tony texts them with updates on the various strings he is pulling to put his plan into action. Apparently Dr. Lopez and Dr. Cohen have agreed to make as many house calls as needed to care for Steve at the tower, lured not only by Stark grant money for their current research projects but access to the state of the art Stark labs.

And Tony has an answer to the problem of how to safely stabilize Steve’s knee. “Give me until Friday. Then we’re breaking you out.”

Steve has to go through another surgery before then, but he seems less miserable about it all, knowing that the end of his hospital stay is near. And when Tony shows up Friday afternoon with a long, black case, Bucky knows it isn’t a fancy new machine gun for his collection.

The doctors swarm Tony when he opens it, each wanting to judge for themselves. But they finally back off when Steve speaks up.

“Um, patient over here? Mind filling me in?”

Tony takes the object out of the case and holds it up. It glistens royal blue, like a car with a new paint job. Bucky doesn’t miss the red and white trim along the hinges and fasteners, either.

“It’s a cast. Except better.” He explains how the custom made cast will not only immobilize and protect Steve’s knee and leg while he’s healing, it can be adjusted as his knee heals, and eventually can be recalibrated to allow him to flex at the knee in specific, controlled amounts as he undergoes physical therapy.

It covers Steve’s right leg from mid-thigh to his ankle, his pale, bare foot sticking out at the end.

“Could make you a little bootie for that, to match,” Tony muses, as the doctors evaluate his work.

Bucky’s impressed, but he also sees Steve grimacing as he tries to hide how much it hurts as the doctors fit him into the device.

“Are you sure walking with this won’t interfere with his recovery?” Bucky asks.

Both doctors turn on him like nuns catching him with a comic book. “He can’t walk in it,” Dr. Cohen says, horrified.

“No, he definitely can’t walk in it,” Dr. Lopez repeats. “Absolutely not.”

Tony shrugs and mouths “sorry,” but Steve doesn’t seem overly upset.

“That’s okay. I don’t want to screw anything up worse. Just tell me what I can do.”

Bucky tunes out the following debate. He’ll catch the end, get the final word, and make sure Steve listens. He wouldn't care if Steve was strapped to his bed for the next month, as long as he gets better eventually. But he’s all for Steve being able to take a piss by himself, if the docs deem it safe.

*****

The next day Steve is finally discharged. Agent Coulson shows up to wish him well. As an orderly pushes Steve out on a gurney (deemed best for transportation, despite the fancy cast), Coulson walks calmly on one side, Bucky on the other. Natasha and Clint show up too, and Tony came along in the custom medical van. Coulson either thinks there’s a risk of something happening to Steve in transport – something that requires multiple Avengers – or he’s just hedging his bets.

Once they get to the tower, Coulson moves away. “Expect a call soon,” he says under his breath to Bucky. Murdock had left a message for Bucky yesterday, saying that negotiations were proceeding well, so he’s not completely surprised.

Their apartment in Stark’s tower is actually much nicer than Bucky had anticipated. It’s plenty big, but furnished in warm tones, with two comfortable couches and several chairs in a casual living room, a well-appointed kitchen with cherry furnishings, and two bedrooms, each with a king-sized bed. Both bathrooms are larger than one would expect, one with a huge tub and a shower big enough for two.

Bucky has dreamed so many times of a place just for the two of them, a home to call their own. A place where Bucky might have a chance of figuring out whether the feelings he has for Steve are reciprocated. He has fleeting memories of exchanging glances with Steve before the war, of fingertip touches, of goodbyes that held larger meanings than the words themselves. Bucky thinks Steve felt the same way. But since Wakanda Bucky has been biding his time, waiting to see if Steve would give him a hint. Take pity on a guy with unreliable memories. Then the giant lizards came.

Bucky sighs as Tony continues to explain the features of the apartment. As he looks around, Bucky realizes that the whole suite has been designed (or re-designed) to be accessible for a person in a wheelchair, and Bucky wonders, not for the first time, how Tony manages to do so many good things in so little time yet be such a monumental pain in the ass.

Speaking of, there’s a state of the art wheelchair waiting at the kitchen table, and it’s been constructed so that Steve’s leg in its special shiny cast is supported by it, sticking almost straight out in front of him.

“Can that really be comfortable?” Natasha asks, as the aides Tony has hired help Steve off the gurney and into the wheelchair.

Steve grimaces. “Not really.” His face is pale, and he’s no longer trying to make jokes to set his friends at ease. The cast is lighter than it has a right to be, but clearly all the moving around has exhausted Steve. Adventure over.

After some further discussion, Steve is helped into bed, and their guests leave, one of the aides promising to come back later to help Steve get ready for bed and check the dressing on his leg. As Tony heads out, he reminds Bucky that if he needs anything, he just has to ask for it.

“And I don’t mean ask me, although you can do that too.”

“Jarvis?” Bucky asks, and Tony nods.

“Jarvis 3.0, really, but it’s a mouthful. Jarvis is fine.”

Bucky sees Tony out, closes the door behind him, and lets out a long breath. This is what Steve wanted, and he’s going to do his best to make it work.

He takes another look around the place, opening drawers and cabinets, and checking out the supplies in the closets and bathrooms. The apartment is well equipped, no doubt.

When he gets back to Steve’s bedroom, he hovers in the doorway until Steve looks up at him.

“Come here,” Steve says, waving his hand. Bucky sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle Steve’s leg. “What do you think of the place?”

Bucky sighs. “I like it.”

Steve grins. “Don’t sound so disappointed. Did you think it would look like something outta the Museum of Modern Art?”

Bucky grins back. “Maybe.” He looks at Steve, and Steve looks back at him, and all of a sudden they are both shaking their heads.

“How the hell did we get here, Bucky?” Steve asks. “Living in the lap of luxury, waited on hand and foot…”

“Don’t know.” Bucky holds Steve’s gaze, and feels a swell of emotion. He’s halfway towards leaning down and kissing him, just going for it right there, when Steve moves to make himself more comfortable on the bed and grimaces in pain.

“Is it hurting?” Bucky asks, glancing down at Steve’s leg, lying on top of the blankets in its fancy blue case.

“Yeah,” Steve says simply. “But I don’t want any meds,” he says stubbornly. “Now that I’m home, I don’t have to be so loopy all the time.”

Bucky nods. “Up to you, pal.”

Steve lets out a breath, relieved, and looks up at Bucky from under his lashes. “Think I’ll just sleep for a while.”

“Okay.”

Bucky hesitates, wondering how weird it would be if he joined Steve for his nap. Steve opens his mouth, as if to ask him to stay, but nothing comes out.

“Sleep well.” Bucky touches Steve quickly on the shoulder, and makes himself leave the room, shutting the door behind him. His own preferences aside, Steve needs the rest. Not that Bucky is going far – he figures out how to use the upscale coffee maker, and brings a cup with him as he settles on the floor just outside Steve’s bedroom door. When he stills, he can hear Steve’s breathing, and that’s enough for him.

*****

Later that evening, the aide arrives to help Steve get ready for bed. The aide is tall and thin, and looks like he just ate something that disagreed with him. Bucky doesn’t recognize him from this morning.

“Jarvis?” he asks quietly, when the man has gone into the bathroom to get his things ready. “Who is this guy?”

“Martin Walker,” Jarvis replies. “New to the Stark medical team, borrowed from SHIELD for this assignment.”

Martin heads into Steve’s room and Bucky follows close behind. The man startles, and turns to Bucky.

“We’re all set here,” Martin says dismissively, and turns back to Steve.

Clearly not an operative, Bucky thinks to himself as the man puts his back to Bucky. Or a really stupid one.

Bucky slides around him and positions himself by the bed, one hand on Steve’s shoulder.

Martin looks up from the latches on the cast and frowns at Bucky. “Why don’t you give us some privacy? This isn’t going to be pretty.”

“We’re good,” Steve says tightly, and moves to take Bucky’s hand.

The movement catches Martin’s eye, and he frowns, then takes a step back from the bedside, eyes roaming around the room. Bucky follows his gaze – there’s not much of them in there yet, just two duffels of clothes Natasha brought them from their apartment.

Martin looks at Bucky coldly and shrugs. “Fine, have it your way.” Martin reaches towards Steve to push the blanket off his other leg. Bucky can tell Steve is trying not to flinch. Then Martin mutters under his breath. “Never knew Captain America swung that way, think someone would have warned me.”

Bucky’s got his metal hand around the man’s bicep and is hustling him away from Steve before anyone has a chance to say a word.

“What the hell? What’s your problem?” Martin sputters. “I don’t give a shit if you hold hands, if that’s your thing.” He doesn’t have to speak the slur for Bucky to hear it.

“We won’t be needing your services,” Bucky replies, shoving him out the door. He locks it behind him, struggling to catch his breath. He did the right thing, not hurting that man, but every instinct is telling him to follow him out and beat the crap out of him for even thinking about insulting Steve Rogers, for daring to put his vile hands near Steve’s broken body.

“Bucky?” Steve calls. “Buck, come here, will ya?”

“I didn’t kill him.”

“I should hope not,” Steve says calmly.

“Didn’t even hurt him.” Although his arm might bruise. That would be acceptable.

Steve smirks at Bucky. “Must have taken a lot of self-control.”

“Damn straight.” Bucky sighs. “Asshole.”

“Yeah.” Steve pauses, and his eyes catch Bucky’s. Bucky feels a tremor run through him, and for a brief, anxious moment Bucky thinks he’s going to tackle it head on, the elephant that’s been in the room ever since Wakanda, and save Bucky from his doubts. Because Bucky definitely swings that way, and he’s pretty sure Steve does too.

But Steve just frowns and moves on. “Guess you’re going to have to call another aide. Jarvis, can you-”

“Nah, I’ll do it,” Bucky says. “We don’t need an aide.”

Steve tilts his head at Bucky. “You sure?” He’s not questioning his capability, Bucky knows. Bucky’s had enough medical training over the years to be able to patch himself up when needed, and they both know basic field medicine. Even more importantly, Bucky has been taking mental notes for the past week on what Steve needs for home care, ever since Tony offered to let them stay in the tower.

“’Course I’m sure.”

The supplies he needs are already set out on the bed, thanks to Martin, but Bucky doesn’t jump straight in. Instead he leans down, hands on Steve’s shoulders, and presses his face to Steve’s cheek. It’s an awkward kind of hug, but Steve laces his arms around Bucky’s back and breathes him in. They both need a moment of comfort, it seems.

Finally Steve releases his hold, and Bucky stands up. “Ready?” he asks.

“Ready.”

The shiny cast opens along hinges, like a violin case, revealing an inner structure designed to hold Steve’s leg immobile even while the wound is being treated. Bucky tries to act professionally, letting his training take over. If he’s going to cry over Steve’s mangled flesh, he’ll do it on his own time, not when he’s spreading ointment over the exposed wound and covering it with fresh bandages.

“Buck?” Steve’s voice is determined. “How’s it look?” Steve is trying to push himself up on his elbows to see, but even with his powerful abs it’s a tough angle.

“You really want to see?”

Steve nods.

“Don’t move.” Bucky goes into the bathroom and comes back with a mirror the size of a legal pad. He found it in the ample first aid kit in the closet – apparently someone understands that sewing up your own injuries is easier if you can see them.

He holds the mirror over Steve’s leg, tilting it until Steve nods. There’s a long silence, just the sound of the two of them breathing, and then Steve speaks. “Thanks.”

Bucky finishes wrapping Steve’s leg, and then closes the outer shell of the cast over the brace. When he latches it up, Steve lets out a long breath.

“How much did that hurt?” Bucky asks.

“Not so much,” Steve replies, and then laughs when Bucky looks at him disbelievingly. “Really. This thing holds it so still, it’s not bad.”

Steve’s already wearing boxers and a t-shirt – he’s been in pajamas all day – so there’s not a lot to do for him at this point except make sure he takes his meds and uses the facilities – which, Steve informs Bucky, he is absolutely doing by himself.

But Bucky helps him hobble in to the bathroom, waits outside for him, and guides him back to bed. Steve looks exhausted by the time he’s under the covers again.

“Do we need to tell Tony about that guy?” Steve asks.

“Was going to do that as soon as you went to sleep,” Bucky admits. “Not sure how the hell he got hired.”

“Wasn’t necessarily anything wrong with him,” Steve says.

Bucky shoots him a sharp look. “Are you kidding? There were so many things wrong with him I don’t know where to start. And how do we know he isn’t Hydra?”

“He was a jerk, and a bigot. That doesn’t make him Hydra.”

“It’s a good start.” Bucky huffs, and leans his head back, although he knows he doesn’t actually need to talk to the ceiling. “Jarvis, can you take care of this for us?”

“Already done, sirs,” Jarvis says.

“Does he report on everything that goes on in here?” Bucky asks Steve, and then rephrases his question. “Jarvis, what’s your privacy setting for us?”

Jarvis proceeds to explain the various possibilities and overrides to his standard mode, but after a few minutes Bucky’s heard enough.

“So you’ll report on anything dangerous or life-threatening, get us take-out when we’re hungry, and ignore any personal stuff?”

“That is not quite it, but close, sir,” Jarvis replies.

Bucky shrugs and glances at Steve, who seems satisfied with this answer. “Guess if you didn’t trust Tony we wouldn’t be here at all,” Bucky says to Steve.

Steve nods. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Steve’s quiet while Bucky gathers up the bandages and related items and puts them away. When Bucky returns, Steve’s eyes are closed.

“Good night, pal,” Bucky says softly, one hand on the door.

Steve’s eyes flutter but don’t open. “’Night, Buck.”

*****

The next morning a friendly woman with a blue streak in her hair and a plastic rainbow bracelet just peeking out from under her sleeve shows up to check Steve’s wound. Bucky grins to himself. He’s surprised Tony didn’t outfit the medical staff in rainbow scrubs.

The day passes calmly. Steve has a few more days before he needs another surgery, and so he’s more relaxed than he’s been in a while. Of course, that might also be due to having his own space away from the constant interruptions of nurses and the beeping of machines. In the afternoon, Steve falls asleep on the couch with a documentary on baseball in the background. Bucky spends a few minutes staring adoringly at him, this big handsome guy slumped over, snoring, with his mouth open, before he shakes himself back to reality and goes to check his email.

As he expected, there are several messages from Matt Murdock. Bucky skims them, groans at the attachments, and decides to make dinner before getting down to business.

Of course, the lasagna that seemed so simple when described on the outside of the pasta box winds up taking him longer than expected, and then he needs to make a salad so Steve gets some fiber, and before he knows it, it’s time to go to bed again. Business will have to wait for tomorrow, Bucky figures. It’s not as if Coulson doesn’t know where to find him.

*****

An unfamiliar noise wakes Bucky during the night and before he knows it, he’s crouching on the floor next to his bed, his Glock in his hand. But it’s not an intruder, he realizes quickly. He’s out of his own room and by Steve’s bed in an instant.

In the dim light Bucky can see that Steve is tangled up in the sheets, fists clenching at his sides. He’s thrashing around and calling out, but Bucky can’t tell what he’s saying.

“Steve, you okay?” Bucky asks in a whisper, not sure what to do. Steve doesn’t answer, clearly still in the throes of his nightmare.

Bucky’s paralyzed for a moment, not wanting to make the situation worse. Has this ever happened before? What did he do then? What would Steve want? He can’t remember.

He sees the glint of Steve’s cast and suddenly he’s holding Steve, a hand on either shoulder to try to slow his movements. He can’t let Steve thrash around like this, he could hurt himself.

“Stevie, hey, it’s me. Calm down, okay? You’re safe, you’re okay.” Bucky firms his grip on Steve’s shoulder, and puts his flesh hand on Steve’s cheek. He turns Steve’s face towards his own and tries again. “Steve, wake up, it’s a bad dream. You’re safe. Steve, please, wake up.”

Steve inhales sharply. His eyes blink open, wide and panicked, then finally focus. “Bucky?”

“Yeah, pal, it’s me. You had a nightmare.”

Steve’s breathing hard. “I… where am I?”

“Stark Tower, in New York.”

Steve appears to take this in, and his hands slowly relax. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.” Bucky wills his heart to stop pounding. “Everything’s fine.” Bucky takes his hand away from Steve’s face and starts to step back but Steve grabs his hand and holds on.

“I woke you up,” Steve says plaintively.

“It’s alright. It’s a nice change.” Damn, his filter is completely gone at this point.

Steve gives Bucky a curious look. “Oh?”

“Not that I want you to have nightmares,” Bucky starts, and then just shakes his head as Steve snorts back at him. He’s not going to even try to explain further – did he just tell Steve he’s glad to have him to watch over? That he’d rather be here with him than by himself? Yeah, pretty much.

Steve tries to straighten the sheets out, and winces as the movement tugs on his injured leg.

“Let me help you with that,” Bucky says. The sheets are damp, and Steve is embarrassed, and everything is going quickly downhill until Bucky has a brilliant idea.

“Wanna sleep in my room, worry about this in the morning?”

It’s not as blatant an invitation as it might seem. He and Steve had shared a bed a million times, growing up. Neither of them wanted to sleep on the floor during sleepovers, and what began as a relatively innocent solution when they were kids continued as the years went by. Bucky loved having Steve sleep tucked up against him, his skinny body and bony limbs pressed close, even if nothing untoward ever happened.

Despite what Bucky clearly remembers, he still holds his breath while he waits for Steve’s response. A lot has happened since then, and Bucky’s not the same guy he used to be.

But Steve’s face lights up and he holds out his big arms for Bucky to help him out of the bed, and Bucky can’t suppress his grin.

He gets Steve into his own room (which is identical to Steve’s, right down to the navy blue bedding), and carefully tucks him under the blankets. He brings Steve a clean t-shirt to change into, and tries, unsuccessfully, not to sneak a glimpse at Steve’s perfectly muscled chest. Steve catches him anyway, and smirks. “Like what you see?”

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” Bucky quips.

Steve just stares at him, and then barks out a laugh. “God, Buck, you’re gonna kill me. I’m too tired for this tonight.” Steve grins at him and pushes at the covers. “Get in here and go to sleep.”

Bucky obeys, curling up on his side. He’s facing Steve, who is lying on his back to keep his leg flat. His heart is racing, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to sleep, not before running tonight’s events over and over in his mind for the next few hours.

It only gets worse when Steve slides his hand across the small gap between them and wraps his fingers around Bucky’s wrist. “Thanks for talking me down,” he says softly.

“Nightmares suck,” Bucky says.

“A little less, tonight,” Steve replies, and closes his eyes.

And that’s it, that’s the topping on the cake. Bucky’s never falling asleep again. He’s swamped with warmth, with love for this man, and with the hope that just maybe, Steve loves him too.

*****

The next day Bucky is sitting at the dining room table, staring at the computer, when Steve wheels up next to him.

“You trying to give yourself a haircut?”

Bucky blinks at him, confused, and Steve mimes how Bucky is tugging on his hair.

“Oh. No. It’s just… so many words.” Bucky has been trying to read the revised immunity agreement for the past thirty minutes, and at this point, all he sees are letters swimming across the page. He sucks in a deep breath and lets it out.

“Will you read it for me, see what you think?” Bucky asks, and turns the laptop towards Steve.

Steve nods and scrolls to the top of the document. “Buck, is this…?”

“It’s our new deal. Been revised a few times. We just need to sign it.”

“You got this done?” Steve looks at him, impressed, and Bucky feels a warm puff of pride.

“Yeah.”

Steve looks at the document on the computer, then back at Bucky. “I suppose I should read it before I sign it?”

“Ha ha.” Bucky grins. “Yeah, you probably should.”

Steve turns back to the document. Bucky can tell when he gets to the part about a substitute Captain America, and he feels his chest clench in anticipation of Steve’s reaction.

“Before you get upset,” Bucky says, hoping to put it in the right context before Steve blows up, “it was my idea.” Steve is constantly worried that Fury is going to pressure Bucky into something, and he needs to know that isn’t what happened.

Steve turns to him, face purposefully neutral. “So… you’re going to be Captain America?”

Bucky shrugs. “Yeah. For a while, anyway.”

Steve looks away, expression closed. “You don’t know what it will be like – the publicity, the attention. People watching your every move. Taking pictures, posting them online. Analyzing everything you say. Bucky, you’ll hate it.”

Bucky shrugs again. He probably will hate it. But it’s nothing he doesn’t deserve, some measure of sacrifice for all he’s done. And Bucky had hoped, somewhere down inside, that Steve would be happy with him for doing this. It doesn’t matter in the end, though, he’s going to do it anyway.

“Bucky, it’s too much.” Steve closes the laptop, and looks around like he’s going to find Coulson standing there waiting to take Bucky away. “I can’t let you do this for me. It’s too much.”

“Steve, I’d do fucking anything for you,” Bucky breathes out. It’s the truth. Always has been, always will be.

Steve catches his eye and holds his gaze steadily. It feels like Steve can see straight into him, and Bucky shivers. Bucky’s not sure what Steve is looking for, but he seems to find it, finally nodding and pulling Bucky into a hug.

“Okay. Okay. Thank you, Buck. Thank you.”

Bucky’s shaking, and Steve holds him tighter, practically pulling him into his lap. If it weren’t for Steve’s heavily casted leg Bucky would have taken him up on it, curled up on him and let everything else fade away, but as it is, it’s pretty good.

*****

Steve’s next surgery goes well, and he’s rewarded with a new cast from Tony. It’s almost exactly the same as the old one, but it has an attachment that comes down over his ankle and foot.

“This is just for very short distances,” Dr. Cohen warns, as Steve tries it out, hobbling around the room. “To get from your bed to the couch, for example. You shouldn’t take more than a few steps at a time.”

“And it may increase your pain,” Dr. Lopez says. “Be aware of it. Don’t push too hard.”

Steve ignores her, turning to make another loop around the room. Bucky’s tempted to stop him – from the wrinkle on Steve’s forehead Bucky’s pretty sure that walking on his bad leg is in fact probably hurting like hell – but Steve generally doesn’t much care for being told what to do.

“Does the pain mean he’s damaging the leg?”

Dr. Lopez shakes her head. “Not really. His tibia and femur are almost completely healed. The muscles aren’t, but we’re almost at the part where physical therapy will help. Walking a few steps a day is a good start.”

“And my knee?” Steve asks.

“That’s still going to take some time.”

*****

That night Steve is exhausted again. It worries Bucky to see just how quickly he tires himself out.

“You should get into bed,” Bucky suggests, when Steve almost face plants into their dinner.

Steve grunts his annoyance. “It’s not even seven o’clock.”

“We could watch tv for a while?”

Steve considers this. “Your tv is better,” he says.

This is a blatant lie. They each have giant flat screen televisions in their bedrooms, as identical as all the other furnishings. But Bucky knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. If Steve wants to hang out in his room, he’s not going to question it.

An hour later, midway into some Star Wars sequel that Sam put on Steve’s list but doesn’t mean much to Bucky, Steve is sound asleep. They had given him his meds and checked his bandages before they started the movie, so there’s no reason to wake him up. Bucky lowers the sound on the television and turns off the lights, then changes into what serves as his own pajamas, flannel sleep pants and a long sleeved t-shirt he stole from Steve.

When he settles under the blankets, Steve shifts towards him, and leans his head on Bucky’s shoulder, his hand coming over to rest on Bucky’s chest. “’Night, Buck,” Steve says sleepily.

“’Night, Steve.”

It takes Bucky ages to fall asleep, long after he has turned off the television. But when he does, his only dreams are good ones.

*****

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Steve’s voice comes from the living room.

“Just as sure as I was the first five times you asked me,” Bucky replies. He zips the suit up, makes sure the harness that will hold the shield is attached snugly, and grabs the cowl off the bed. Time to play ball.

“Whoa, look at you,” Steve says when Bucky exits the bedroom. “Damn, you look good.”

Bucky can feel his face heat, and he ducks his head. “It’s a nice suit.” It’s a slightly toned down version of Steve’s last model, but with the shield design on his left upper arm, in the place of the red star that used to be on the metal underneath. He turns away, heading for the kitchen where at least he can have a cold drink, and Steve wolf whistles at him.

“What?” He spins back around. Was Steve actually admiring his ass?

Steve pushes himself off the couch and limps over to Bucky. “It’s not just the suit, although I must say Tony paid close attention to your measurements.” Steve wiggles his eyebrows and runs a finger over Bucky’s chest.

Huh, Bucky thinks. Maybe Steve isadmiring his ass. Not a bad silver lining to this whole mess.

Then Steve’s face turns serious. “It’s got the Kevlar lining, right?”

“Of course,” Bucky says.

Steve puts his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, biting his lip, but doesn’t say anything.

“Don’t worry, Steve. I’m gonna be fine.”

“You can’t know that,” Steve says, voice tight.

“I’m Captain America,” Bucky says, striking a pose. “I’m invincible.”

Steve sighs. “You’re not. I’m not.” He waves a hand at his injured leg. “Exhibit A.”

“I know. I’m just teasing.”

“I know,” Steve says quietly. “Just… are you sure you’re ready?”

Bucky doesn’t chastise Steve for asking the question again this time. “If I’m not, we’ll find out soon enough.”

There’s a ping on his phone, Natasha telling him she’s in the car outside, and Bucky turns to go.

“Wait.” Steve grabs his arm, and pulls him in for a tight hug, a hand behind his head holding him close. Bucky feels a damp kiss to his forehead, and then Steve lets him go. “Be safe, Buck.”

For the next few hours, in the car with Natasha and on the quinjet, it’s all Bucky can think about. That kiss. It wasn’t a romantic kiss, was it? It was a brotherly kiss, a friendly kiss, an “I’m worried about you” kiss. But Steve had clearly been ogling him in the suit, and sleeping curled up against him… although that might not mean anything, either.

Finally Natasha flicks his shoulder with her finger, hard enough to sting even through the suit.

“Hey,” he protests, and she glares at him.

“We’re landing in less than half an hour. Get your head in the game, Barnes.”

Bucky realizes she’s right – he can’t go into a fight distracted like this. And it’s not like him to let personal concerns interfere with his mission. Or, more accurately, he thinks, it’s not like the Winter Soldier to let personal concerns interfere with his mission. Not that the Winter Soldier had any personal concerns – until he did, and look how that ended up.

Bucky moves towards the back of the small plane and sits down on the floor, leaning his head on his knees. He takes deep breaths, tries to clear his mind and focus on their goals. He remembers how it felt to know only his mission, to have no other purpose. Slowly a cold wave settles over him, and the world narrows.

When they land, he and Natasha scope out the area. They easily identify the scientist they’re looking for, but when he comes out of the research facility he’s surrounded by six heavily armed guards.

Without comment, Bucky takes the guards down with Steve’s shield, and sends a tranquilizer bullet into the scientist. He leaves the man for the clean-up team to collect, and returns to the jet.

“What the hell, Barnes?” Natasha’s voice sounds like it’s coming through a fog, and Bucky has to struggle to process her words. “You care to let me know what that was all about?”

Bucky looks around. They’re back at Stark Tower, alone in a briefing room. He doesn’t remember the trip back.

She leans down and whispers in his ear. “We need to get our stories straight before Coulson skypes in. Anything you care to share?”

But Bucky is confused, his thoughts swirling, and he doesn’t know what to say. Moments later Coulson’s face appears on the laptop screen in front of them, and Natasha calmly recounts the details of their mission.

“Sergeant Barnes, anything you want to add?”

Bucky blinks at Coulson, and shakes his head. “No, sir.”

“This was your first time in battle since Steve was injured. Your first official op with the Avengers, as Captain America or otherwise. Any problems?”

“No.”

“Romanov, you agree?”

Coulson’s a top-notch spy, but Natasha’s easily his equal. “Yes, sir. Glad to have him on the team.”

When Coulson signs off, Natasha moves to the door, blocking Bucky’s way. “We’re talking about this tomorrow,” she says firmly.

“Fine.”

He takes the stairs up to the floor with his and Steve’s apartment, the twenty flights flying by. It’s the middle of the night, and Steve is fast asleep in his room. Bucky strips off the suit and climbs into bed, shaking. He screwed up. There’s nothing he can do about it. Bucky buries himself in the blankets, and waits for dawn to come.

There’s screaming all around him, shrieks of pain and fear. He sees himself pummeling the target, face bloody and broken. He can’t stop, his metal fist striking again and again, and yet the target is still screaming.

“Bucky, Bucky, wake up.”

“I can’t stop, I can’t, help me, help me!” Bucky screams. He feels strong arms wrap around his body, pinning his hands against a firm chest, and he cries with relief. It’s Steve. Steve’s got him. He can’t hurt anyone anymore.

“Bucky, breathe. You’re okay. Breathe.”

Steve pulls him tighter against his chest, lets Bucky curl into him, pressing his face into Steve’s neck. Slowly his body relaxes. He realizes that he’s half lying on Steve’s fancy cast, and a wave of shame washes over him. Bucky’s supposed to be taking care of Steve, not the other way around.

But when he tries to pull back, Steve just holds him tighter. “You’re not going anywhere,” Steve says, rubbing a hand over his back. “Go to sleep, Bucky. Go to sleep.”

*****

“That was some nightmare,” Steve says mildly when Bucky joins him in the kitchen the next morning. There’s a platter of scrambled eggs and toast in the middle of the table, but Bucky doesn’t feel much like eating.

“Yeah.”

“Mission didn’t go well?”

Bucky shrugs. “It was fine.”

Steve sits down next to him and tries to catch his eye. “Want to talk to one of the SHIELD therapists? Maybe the one you met with before?”

“I’m fine, Steve.”

“Natasha doesn’t think so.”

Traitor, Bucky thinks. “You talked to Natasha?”

“She’s worried about you. Said you kind of blanked on her.”

Bucky shrugs again. “I’m fine. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, Natasha’s coming over here in a few minutes. Said maybe you guys would go for a run.” Steve gives Bucky a pointed look, then flicks his eyes up to the ceiling and back to Bucky.

If Steve is worried about Jarvis overhearing the conversation, then whatever happened might be even worse than Bucky suspects.

“Okay, good idea.”

He and Natasha put several city blocks in between themselves and Stark Tower before she ducks into a coffee shop. Bucky follows her, sees the glances she gets in her tight black running outfit, and has to laugh at himself, decked out in his finest baggy sweats and two layers of long-sleeved shirts.

They settle outside on a bench, coffees in hand. The early spring sunshine is bright, but doesn’t do much to warm them.

“You were all happy and lovesick, and then something changed.” Natasha states. “Explain.”

“I’m not lovesick.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “That’s not what we’re discussing.”

Bucky sighs. “I don’t know, okay? I was just trying to focus on the mission. Everything was fine. We took out the Hydra goons, tranq’d the scientist, and that was that.

“We?” Natasha says. “You acted alone, partner. Like I wasn’t even there. Wouldn’t even talk to me for the whole ride back.”

Bucky shakes his head, the sick feeling in his stomach intensifying. “I don’t remember the trip back,” he confesses. “I don’t remember anything between shooting the guy and being in the briefing room.”

Natasha is silent as she finishes her coffee. “We should tell Coulson.”

“No,” Bucky turns to her, panic rising in his gut. “He’ll rip up the immunity deal.”

Natasha doesn’t flinch. “I didn’t say I was going to tell him. Just said we should.”

“Shit, just… please don’t tell him. Give me another chance. I can do better.”

Natasha leans her head against his shoulder, like she did back in the hospital when they watched over Steve. “You didn’t do badly, Barnes. Hell, you did great. The perfect soldier.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Bucky says softly.

“Yeah. Me too.”

*****

The Avengers are called to assemble again that afternoon, an emergency in Philadelphia, something to do with the Liberty Bell becoming animated and taking off down the street.

Steve follows Bucky around the apartment as Bucky gathers the pieces of his suit. He’s frowning so hard Bucky is tempted to warn him that his face is gonna stick that way.

“It’s too soon,” Steve finally says, as Bucky ties his hair in a ponytail. “You haven’t gotten any rest.”

“I don’t decide when crazy shit happens, Steve. I gotta go, have to be upstairs in five.” His heart is racing, but there’s nothing to be done. Maybe he can calm himself down on the plane.

“Bucky…”

“What?”

“Come here.” Steve tugs him close, puts a hand on the back of his head and tucks his face up against his cheek. They stay that way for a long moment, Bucky breathing in Steve’s scent, clean laundry and skin and a hint of aftershave. “You know I’m no good without you, right?” Steve whispers, and Bucky’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest.

“I’m not going anywhere, Steve,” he says, wrapping his arms around Steve’s broad shoulders. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

When his phone pings he pulls back, and is shocked to see Steve’s eyes bright with tears.

“I’ll stay, if you want,” he says quickly, because no immunity deal is worth this. They can live somewhere else, fuck America, it’s nothing next to Steve.

“No, no, that’s not what… no.” Steve wipes his eyes and straightens his shoulders. “Sorry, just feeling sentimental. Go.”

“You sure?”

Steve shakes his head. “Yeah. They need you, the team needs you, I’m being silly. Just – come back home, okay?”

Bucky leans in and kisses Steve smack on the mouth before he can think about it, and then he’s out the door and flying up the stairs to the roof without so much as a goodbye.

He climbs into the jet in a daze, barely registering the greetings from Clint and Tony, the news that Thor is joining them later, the update on the operation from Coulson. They make a stop to pick up Natasha, who calmly sits herself down next to Bucky and hands him another coffee. With sugar.

“Status report?” she asks under her breath, when the others start debating whether Thor’s hammer will make the Liberty Bell ring or just smash it.

“I kissed Steve,” Bucky breathes out, and Natasha leans her shoulder against his metal arm, chuckling softly to herself.

“It’s about time.”

When they get close, Bucky shakes himself and starts to stand up, but Natasha stops him with a hand on his arm. “No need for any mind tricks this time,” she says steadily.

“I have to focus. I can’t be thinking about…” he waves his hands helplessly. “Things. Him. When I fight.”

She looks at him squarely. “You can. You have to. It’s hard, I know, given your conditioning.” She doesn’t even stumble over the word, doesn’t shy away. “But if you keep going back there… you’ll lose yourself. It’s not worth it.”

“Speaking from experience?” he asks. He has a feeling he knows the answer.

“What do you think?” she replies, a trace of bitterness lacing her words. “Anyway, the whole team is here today. Don’t try to do this on your own. We have to work together.”

Bucky nods. “I’ll try.”

“Hey,” she says, tilting her head. “We’ve got your back, you know.”

His throat is tight, so he just nods again. He knows it’s part of the job, but it’s nice to hear it.

When they get to Philadelphia, it’s chaos. The animated Liberty Bell has vacated its home near Independence Hall and is hightailing it north, stopping traffic on Route 95 in both directions.

“Any idea what the hell is going on?” Clint asks.

Natasha relays the answer from Coulson. “Apparently it’s been treated with some kind of fancy alien molecule.” Natasha’s heading up this mission – Bucky is willing to act as their figurehead, but he has no interest in being in charge.

Nevertheless, Bucky-as-Captain-America has to take point, get out in front of the crowd, let people see that Captain America is there to protect them. So he does. Tony provides cover while Natasha and Clint work on getting the civilians out of the way.

Bucky finally gets close enough to throw his shield at the bell, which is lurching up the street faster than anything that big has a right to move. But the shield just bounces off and flies back to his hand. Bucky throws it again, using all the force his metal arm can muster, but the damn thing barely seems to feel it, rocking a bit and then continuing on its way.

“Try taking out its legs,” Tony says on the comms.

“It doesn’t have legs,” Bucky replies, gritting his teeth as he dodges a car that the Bell has shoved back towards him. “It’s just floating or something.”

“It’s got to be holding itself up somehow, some kind of energy field,” Tony says. He catches another car on its way back towards Bucky. “Get the shield under it. Knock out its knees.”

“Doesn’t have knees,” Bucky mutters to himself, but he tries it anyway, gliding the shield under the Bell as hard as he can. Much to his surprise, the Bell falters, and when he does it again, the damn thing slams to a halt right there on the surface of the highway.

Tony is cheering and shouting something about being a genius, brains over beauty winning every time, and Bucky wonders if Steve puts up with this kind of ribbing. He realizes that he probably does, and for a moment, being Captain America doesn’t seem quite so bad.

It takes hours to clean up the mess, ruined cars up and down the road, frightened people quickly turning from scared to thankful to pissed off about having their cars totaled and their days ruined. Bucky does his best to play the part, channeling Steve’s most polite public persona.

As the evening wears on, Bucky can’t help think about the kiss – the kiss - but it doesn’t get in his way, not enough to matter. And maybe the way he feels colors his interactions with the people in the street, making him a little more patient, more forgiving. This Captain America gig isn’t just about killing the bad guys – it’s also about helping everyone else. Having Steve on the edge of his thoughts might just be an advantage.

By the time they pile back into the quinjet it’s past midnight. Coulson lets them do a quick briefing over the phone, with the agreement that they give a more detailed report the following afternoon.

“Unless you send us out again,” Natasha mutters, and Coulson smirks at her from her phone screen.

“Next time I’ll wait until the Liberty Bell makes it to the Statue of Liberty and they join forces,” Coulson says. “If you’re too tired to do your job.”

He goes on to thank them for their efforts, ignoring Tony’s insistence that he deserves most valuable player recognition, and signs off.

Clint breaks out the bag of snacks, and walks around the plane like a flight attendant, offering little bags of popcorn and protein bars to anyone who is awake enough to eat. Bucky chews on a protein bar and swallows down a liter of water, and sits back in his chair. Natasha’s across the aisle from him, and she idly tosses a piece of popcorn in his direction.

“Good work out there, Barnes,” she says.

He shrugs.

“No, really. I’m glad to have you on the team.”

He can’t help the warmth that spreads inside him at her words. He thinks he knows her well enough at this point to believe them.

******

Bucky eases open the door to their suite, trying to be quiet. It’s still the middle of the night, and Steve needs his rest.

But there’s still a light on in the living room, and a familiar figure on the couch, tablet in hand.

Bucky takes a deep breath. He’s going to have to explain himself now, it seems. No sneaking into his own bed to avoid the topic until morning. “Steve, I’m sorry, I don’t know what…”

Steve’s face lights up when he sees Bucky, and it takes the words out of his mouth. Steve stands and crosses the room, his casted leg hardly slowing him up. He smiles shyly as he comes right up in Bucky’s space.

“You’re sorry?” Steve asks lightly, putting a hand to Bucky’s cheek.

Bucky leans into it, his eyes closing. It’s okay. Steve wouldn’t be holding him like this – he’s holding him, careful but sure – if it wasn’t.

“What are you sorry for?” Steve blinks at him, long eyelashes fluttering.

“Don’t know,” Bucky sighs, resting his face against Steve’s and breathing him in.

“Not sorry for this, I hope,” Steve replies, and shifts to place a firm kiss on Bucky’s lips. He pulls back, his blue eyes searching Bucky’s face, and Bucky melts.

“No, not sorry for that.”

“Good.” Steve kisses him again, harder. His lips are soft and wet, and Bucky’s mouth opens with a gasp. Steve licks at his lips, the slick heat of his tongue sending a shiver up Bucky’s spine. Bucky loses himself in it, pleasure surging through his body.

“Let’s get you out of this,” Steve says, sliding the harness off Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky leans his head against Steve’s and finds the zipper of his jacket, but hesitates as the thought of what’s happening registers. Is he really about to strip Steve out of his clothes? “Steve, is… is this okay?”

“What, you think we’re moving too fast?” Steve says calmly, rubbing a hand on the back of Bucky’s neck. “Seventy-something years not enough for you?” He smiles as he speaks, stepping back just a bit to let Bucky know he can have the space if he needs it.

He abruptly realizes that he doesn’t.

“Nah, you’re right,” Bucky says, a little breathless with it. “I’m good. If you’re sure you want…”

Steve surges forward again, covering Bucky’s face with kisses. “I want, believe me. I’ve wanted you forever.”

Bucky gasps and kisses him back, growling his agreement into Steve’s mouth. Steve almost loses his balance, and Bucky grabs him firmly under the arms, remembering that he’s balancing on his fancy Stark cast.

“What do you say we take this to more stable ground?” Bucky asks.

“If by that you mean the bed, it’s a deal.”

For an injured man and an exhausted Avenger they don’t waste any time shedding their clothes and getting into bed, although Bucky thinks his heart almost stops when Steve holds open the covers and he slides in next to him. He’s seen Steve naked before, of course, but not like this, not laid open and bare for him, for Bucky to look at and touch and taste. It’s intoxicating.

They arrange themselves so as not to put any pressure on Steve’s leg, Steve brushing off Bucky’s concerns with a hasty reassurance that Stark’s cast will protect him and by god, he is not going to let anything stop him now, which Steve immediately tries to demonstrate by leaning down and licking a stripe along Bucky’s hard length.

Bucky nearly cries out, but it’s clear that despite Steve’s determination, the position is kind of ridiculous for Steve given the cast. He pulls him up and kisses him soundly, then pushes Steve back by the shoulders and makes him lie down on the bed. “Maybe next time,” he says, guiding Steve’s hand to him instead, and taking Steve in his own. “Don’t want you hurting yourself.”

Steve doesn’t protest, and Bucky would like to think it is at least in part due to the fact that he has better things to think about. From the delicious noises he’s making as Bucky strokes him, he thinks there’s a good chance of it.

Then Steve focuses on Bucky, working him over until he’s panting and shaking, and Bucky loses track of everything except Steve, his touch and his voice, the smell of him all around him.

Steve changes the pace for a moment, kissing down Bucky’s chest and swirling his tongue around a nipple, and Bucky almost can’t take it anymore. “Oh my god, Steve.” He digs his face into Steve’s neck, gets a hand on Steve’s ass to pull them closer, and ruts shamelessly against him.

“That’s it, Buck, that’s it,” Steve encourages, hand tangling in Bucky’s hair as Bucky lets go, his orgasm rushing over him. Steve follows soon after with a shout. They’re sticky and sweaty and altogether disgusting, but as far as Bucky is concerned, he’s never been happier.

*****

The next morning Bucky wakes up cuddled against Steve’s bare chest. Steve is scrolling through something on his phone with one hand, his other arm holding Bucky close.

“Morning, sunshine,” Steve says, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s hair.

“Mmm. What time is it?”

“Nearly ten.”

Bucky pushes himself up on an elbow. Steve is bright eyed and alert, beaming at Bucky.

“You never sleep in,” Bucky says, confused.

“I made an exception,” Steve says, leaning in to kiss Bucky properly.

Bucky relaxes, parting his lips and letting Steve in, morning breath and everything. “I could get used to waking up like this.” He sighs and lays back down on Steve’s chest. “World doesn’t need saving today?” He pokes at Steve’s phone so he can see what he’s looking at. It’s a picture of Bucky as Captain America, taken yesterday when he was consoling a little girl in the aftermath of the Philadelphia battle. The headline is “New Cap: Fit to Wear the Suit?”

“You don’t need to read this,” Steve says, swiping at his phone and setting it aside. “People gave me crap all the time, you know. I hate that it’s happening to you, too.”

Bucky looks around at the Captain America harness draped over the headboard, pieces of the suit tossed on the floor where they landed when Steve took him to bed just hours ago. His gaze lands on Steve, naked underneath him, blue eyes full of love and concern.

“I’m all right,” Bucky says. “Really.” He leans down and kisses Steve, long and hot and deep. “I’m fine with either one of us wearing the suit, as long as we get to do this when it comes off.”

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