A bit that didn't make it into the fic I'm writing (sequel to "it's snowing in chicago):
“Buck believes in people,” Maddie says, with that little squint to her eyes that Eddie knows means she’s being particularly sincere. “You know, our parents…they never gave him what he needed, growing up. And when he finally talked to them about it, they couldn’t admit they were wrong–not really.
“But he still answers the phone every time they call. And he knows they haven’t changed, but he thinks they can. He hopes so, anyway. That’s the kind of faith that Buck has in people, in the people that he loves.”
“Right,” Eddie says. He turns to leave, and then turns back. “I don’t think I understand what you’re trying to tell me.”
Maddie sighs, exasperated. “Don’t fuck with my baby brother,” she says, and Eddie feels actually intimidated. “If you–if you’re working toward something, if you’re trying to get there, he’ll wait. Evan will wait,” she says, and then laughs. “I think for you he’ll wait forever.
“But if this is it, Eddie? If fun uncle and good friend and work partners is all you have to give him, then you need to make that clear.”
“I never said anything else, Maddie, I never–”
“You do it every day,” she says, and the steel is back in her voice. “God,” she says, looking up before looking back at him. “Maybe I was like this with Chim, I don’t know. It’s the way you bring him leftovers for lunch and have him over for ice cream after shift and the way you look at him. The way you let him look at you. You’re so wrapped up in each other, and everyone sees it. Everyone but you.”
“I don’t–” Eddie deflects, but she silences him with a single look.
“Nice shirt, by the way,” she says, and Eddie looks down. It’s the sage green flannel that Buck left at his house a few months ago. At some point Eddie started wearing it. He like the way Buck looks at him when he does.
Eddie sighs, and looks at her, and she cocks her head at him. “I gave it to him for his birthday last year,” she says, and shrugs. “Figure it out, and talk to him when you do. He’s going to love you no matter what. But don’t make him wait for something that’s not coming. You know he deserves better than that.”
I’ve been obsessed with @chicklette‘s story “It’s the Best Time of the Year,” and we got a happy chapter today, so I’m celebrating (and saying thank you) with fan art. This is what I picture Stella’s looking like! (Although Bucky usually covers his metal arm when he’s not in the back).
I hope you like it! Thanks for working so hard on your story!
The thing is, he doesn't mean to say it. He sits down on his his own damn couch, and Buck takes one look at him and lifts his arm like Eddie's meant to snuggle there, so he does.
He's just.
He's tired.
He is bone deep weary, and too keyed up to sleep because five eleven year old children have more energy than he's ever had. And Buck had to work and Bobby couldn't let them both off, so Eddie did the birthday party at the aquarium and riding scooters to the lighthouse and feeding the seagulls and two hours of pokemon go before having dinner at the weird goth pizza place the Christopher picked out after Buck told him about it.
But now Chris is sleeping like the dead and Buck's on his couch, legs stretched a mile long in a pair of Eddie's sweats that bag at the thigh, and he looks--he looks so soft.
A part of Eddie laughs at himself, because he works out with Buck and he knows there's not an ounce of softness anywhere on his body, but he still looks soft. Like Eddie could put his head on Buck's shoulder and Buck would put his arm around him and Eddie could rest.
"Come on," Buck says, so Eddie does it. He lays his head on Buck's shoulder, and it fits like it did that time that Buck held him, that time they've never talked about, and Eddie sighs.
"I missed you," Eddie says.
"Yeah," Buck replies. He kisses the top of Eddie's head. "I missed you guys, too."
"Don't--don't leave," Eddie says.
"No," Buck answer, and he squeezes Eddie's shoulder. "I'm good. Get some sleep."
He hears all the things Buck isn't saying, things like "I've got this watch," and "We're safe." He hears--
"I love you," Buck whispers.
Eddie looks up, finds blue eyes, no surprise, no fear, just peace.
"Yeah," Eddie says. "I love you."
There's no surprise, and it's no grand announcement. They're just--finally--saying it out loud instead of just living it.
I just really love a good Buck/Athena interaction. (From the sequel to "It's Snowing in Chicago.")
“A penny for your thoughts, Buckaroo.”
Buck looks over at Athena, who somehow managed to slip into the chair next to him, while he was lost inside his own head.
Buck chuckles. “You might be overpaying.”
“Hmm,” she says, taking a sip of her champagne. “I doubt that.”
“Beautiful wedding,” he says, looking out at the revelers.
“It is.”
And she…Buck hates how she does this, how she give him just enough rope to hang himself, because she holds the silence so well, and he can’t help but rush to fill the void.
Instead of baring his soul though, he takes a different tack.
“Do you wish you and Bobby had done this? Something bigger?”
Athena throws her head back laughing. “Absolutely not. My wedding was perfect. Exactly what I wanted. Bobby, too.”
Buck shrugs. “I don’t know, I always thought when I got married I’d have the whole thing, you know? Speeches and dances and a hundred people.”
“Well, sounds like you’d better start planning.”
Buck gives her a cynical laugh and sets back in his chair. “Kinda gotta have a bride first, don’t you think?”
“Hmmm,” Athena replies, then looks out at the dance floor. “Or a groom,” she says, with a nod. “If that’s what makes you happy.”
“Wha…?” He doesn’t–he’s not hiding the fact that he’s bi, not at all. He just…hasn’t found a man he’s interested in dating.
Or. Well.
He’s only found one man he’s interested in dating.
Buck looks out at the dance floor to see Eddie and Christopher dancing together, Eddie holding Chris’s hands and the both of them swaying their hips in a dance that should be awkward and a little silly, but isn’t. It’s endearing, and Buck’s heart does that thing, that squeeeeeeze that says mine and yes and home.
Then Marisol joins them, sliding up to bump hips with Eddie while taking one of Christopher’s hands in hers.
Buck sighs.
“Quit moping over here in the corner,” Athena says, picking up her glass and standing. “You’ll put wrinkles on that pretty face of yours.”
She stands and winks, and puts her hand out to him.
“Think you can keep up?” she asks, with an arch of her brow.
Grinning, Buck takes her hand. “I think I can give it a shot.”
So @frostbitebakery made this devastating piece of art and said it would be okay if I wrote something for it.
So I give you a Shrunkyclunks soulmate AU, rated M:
Everyone has a soulmate. Everyone.
Since the counsel has been keeping records, there has been one exception to that rule, and considering the man, no one was very surprised. After all, Captain America, ne Steve Rogers, was the exception to all the rules.
So when he plunged into the Atlantic in a plane loaded with enough explosives to take out the entire Eastern Seaboard, the nation mourned him, but the counsel breathed a sigh of relief. Their perfect record - a soulmate for everyone - was intact.
When Bucky is five or six or seven, he has his first bonding dream. In it, he watches as a boy about his age, maybe a little bit younger, leans up over a small coffee table, drawing. The boy is small and slight, with fine hair so blonde it’s almost white. The boy looks up at the ceiling for a moment, and Bucky can see he has huge blue eyes. Then the boy goes back to his drawing, humming a song that Bucky’s never heard before.
After a moment, Bucky pauses to look around the room. It’s sparsely decorated, a few of what he guesses are the boy’s drawings tacked up along the walls. The floor is bare wood, and the couch looks to have seen better days, but everything looks clean, and neat. Because he is only five or six or seven, he doesn’t see the poverty of the room, only that it looks welcoming.
When Bucky looks over the boy’s shoulder, he can’t help but smile. It’s a rough sketch of a family, with a big yellow sun in the sky, a small blonde boy, a smaller orange cat, and a woman who Bucky guesses is the kid’s mother. It’s not the terrible crayon drawing that Bucky would have expected. The boy is using colored pencils, studying the page carefully before laying down the next line.
Bucky is fascinated. He sits down next to the boy, and while the boy never acknowledges him, Bucky can’t help but feel a kinship anyway.
.
When Bucky is seven or eight or nine, he learns that the boy’s name is Steve. By now he knows that they can’t interact. He knows this because when he was five or six or seven, the boy was yelling at some kids who were picking on a stray cat. The kids then turned on Bucky’s small friend, and before he knew it, the boy was on the ground, bleeding from a cut over his eye, a bruise already blooming on his cheek, doing his level best not to cry.
Bucky ran to him and put his arm around him, but nothing happened.
Well, not nothing.
As Bucky sat down next to the boy and leaned up against the space where his shoulder should be, he was filled to the brim with emotions that weren’t quite his. He felt angry and sad, defeated and indignant. He was sorry because he knew he’d once again worry his ma, and hurt for the little stray cat, but underneath all of that, he felt…lonely.
Bucky’s felt his friend’s loneliness and found himself fighting off tears. It wasn’t fair! Bucky had Becca, and even though she was gross and sometimes mean and always wanted to play Barbies, at least he knew she loved him. They were family.
Steve didn’t seem to have anyone besides his ma, not even a dad.
But when Bucky is seven or eight or nine, he learns that his friend’s name is Steve, and he gets to see his friend truly happy, maybe for the first time.
Steve is at school when Bucky finds him, standing before his class. The teacher is holding up a drawing that Steve’s done, and the class is applauding, chanting his name. Steve is beaming. It’s the happiest Bucky has ever seen him, and he rushes to stand close to Steve, so that he can feel his friend’s joy for himself.
As much as he longs to be able to talk to Steve when he’s sad, he wishes for it now more than ever. He wants to hug his friend tight, and let the joy that is inside of him wash over the both of them forever. That night, when he falls asleep, it’s with a smile on his face, and the whisper of the name Steve on this breath.
.
When Bucky is nine or ten or eleven, he has the worst day he’s ever had. He has a fight with his best school friend, Joey Morgan, his bicycle has a flat tire when he goes to ride it home, and when he gets home, he finds out that Becca is sick and has chicken pox. He is so full of frustrated anger than when he falls asleep and stumbles onto Steve, he tries to turn away. He feels anxious and edgy, like his bad mood will somehow spill onto Steve, make him somehow more likely to go pick a fight (and who is he kidding? Steve loves to pick fights.).
He tries to keep his distance from Steve, but it doesn’t work. He tries to will himself awake, but instead, he finds himself watching as Steve readies himself for bed. Steve’s about his age now, (Steve is always about his age, and Bucky likes that they get to grow together, even if they’re not together-together) and before he climbs into bed, he stands at the window and looks up at the moon, whispering something under his breath.
Bucky hears Steve’s mother’s footsteps a beat or two before Steve does. Over the years, he’s come to realize that his not only gets sick a lot, but is a little bit deaf as well. Steve clambers into bed just as his mother walks in.
She looks at him, and at the open curtain at the window and smiles. “Wishing on the moon again?”
Steve shrugs.
“My handsome man,” she says, and sits at the edge of the bed, holding his hands in hers. “I know you’re anxious, but your soulmate is out there. You just have to give them some time to get to you.”
“I know, but Ma, I’m already -”
“Already tired of waiting, is what you are. I know. But be patient, little love. You’ll find each other soon enough.”
“Yeah,” Steve says, nodding but unconvinced. “Just wish they’d hurry up.”
Bucky understands the sentiment.
Still, when Steve finally lays down and shuts his eyes, Bucky lays beside him. He wraps an arm around the space where Steve is, and does his best to let Steve know that Bucky is there, that Bucky is waiting, and that Bucky cannot wait for the two of them to meet.
In his dream, he falls asleep that way, and his dream sleep is so heavy that his mother has to shake him hard the next morning, to convince him to wake up. He gets up and goes to school, but feels strange all day. By the end of the day, he’s sent home ill, and the next day, he breaks out in a rash of chicken pox. In his dreams, Steve is sick as well, and somehow that’s the only thing that makes Bucky feel better.
.
When Bucky is thirteen, Steve breaks an arm. Bucky’s arm aches in sympathy for a month. When Bucky is fourteen, Steve gets pneumonia. Bucky runs a fever of a hundred and two with no discernible illness.
Bucky has a few choice words for Steve once they’re both feeling well again, not that Steve can hear him.
When Bucky is sixteen, Steve’s ma gets sick, and when he’s seventeen, she dies. Bucky cries so hard he makes himself sick, and when his mother places a cool washcloth over the back of his neck and holds him close, she exchanges worried glances with her husband.
It’s not unusual for soulmates to feel the residual emotions of their partner through the bond. It is unusual them to feel it this keenly.
The next day, Bucky is taken to the doctor. He’s melancholy, which is unusual for him, but he’s also running another low-grade fever. The doctor does some blood tests and a full physical exam. Truth be told, Bucky’s always been an unusual case. His soulmate became known to him much earlier than usual, so the fact that they haven’t made contact yet is startling. What’s worse is Bucky’s creeping suspicion that his soulmate is either an extreme hipster, or...well, Bucky’s not really sure what the make of the “or.”
But he’s never seen Steve use a television, or computer, or cell phone. There’s an antique radio playing antique songs that Steve sometimes turns on, but mostly Steve sits at his rickety kitchen table and draws. He wears suspenders, and hard-soled leather shoes that don’t fit all that well, and in the summer, he sometimes sets a bowl of ice in front of the fan in order to cool off.
When Bucky is eighteen, he once more dreams of Steve. Steve is in bed, in a dark, quiet room, and his hand is moving under the covers. Bucky gapes when he realizes what Steve is doing. He gapes as his feet feel rooted to the floor, and he gapes as Steve makes a small, needful whine. When Steve brings his fingers to his mouth, Bucky’s torn between wanting to turn away and wanting to move closer. By the time Steve comes, Bucky’s breathing hard and his heart is pounding in his chest.
He wakes up with his dick in his hand, and comes, wet and hot, all over his chest, whole body shaking with the force of it.
“Jesus, Steve,” Bucky says, and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “Jesus.”
.
When Bucky is eighteen, he’s taking his final semester of high school. His lit and history classes are boring, but he’s aceing Calc, and he got into NYU’s Mechanical Engineering program for the coming fall. He can’t wait to get out of high school. It’s early in spring and Bucky’s got a serious case of senioritis. He’s only half paying attention to Mr. Clemmons, his AP History teacher, when he opens his book to their chapter - Heroes of World War II.
He’s flicking through the pages, half-listening, half-thinking about improvements to the Rube Goldberg machine that he and Bobby Evers have been building in the garage, when his world comes to a juddering stop.
He’s looking at a photo of Captain America, and that’s nothing new. He’s seen pictures of Captain America since he was a kid. Hell, he used to want to be Captain America. He had a Cap themed birthday party when he was six.
But next that is a photo he’s never seen before. It’s a picture of a young Steve Rogers, age maybe fourteen or fifteen, and he’s standing next to a tall, blonde woman in a nurses uniform. The boy is squinting into the sun, and his posture is half-relaxed, and half fight-me.
The caption reads “A rare, early photo of Steve Rogers, recently released as a part of the Project Insight data dump. It is believed that his mother, Sarah Rogers, is pictured with him.”
Bucky feels his stomach drop out just as his mouth fills with saliva. He has just enough time to think, Stevie, no, before the world drops out from under him. Because that kid, there on the page? That’s his soulmate.
Final (full) chapter of my ode to @frostbitebakery’s flawless art. I made the story. The glory belongs to her.
Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3
When Bucky is thirty-two, he recognizes that probably won’t ever move on with his life, and he’s making his peace with it. He runs cold - colder than any warm blooded man has a right to, and he has terrible dreams now - dreams where he’s trapped in ice or lost in the snow, dreams where everything around him is an eerie shade of blue.
He gets it - his soulmate froze to death in the space of a week, lost to the Atlantic, never to be found again. It’s horrible. When Bucky thinks about it, it’s horrible.
So he knows that’s why he’s having the dreams. Doesn’t make it okay, but he understands at least.
And maybe the world needed someone to truly mourn Steve Rogers, actual human being, versus mourning the loss of Captain America. Bucky doesn’t know the reasons, he just knows that he’s fallen flat every time he’s tried to move on, and he’s done with trying. He loves Steve, and he always will. There are plenty of folks who never move on from losing their soulmate.
Still, idle hands all that.
So he spends a lot of time at the center with Sam. At present, he leads one of the groups on new loss and grief, and another on making the choice not to date. He’s comfortable with his choices. He knows his family would like to see him at least try dating again, but Bucky can’t seem to convince himself that dating would be fair to anyone, not the way things are now.
He’s made his peace with his lot in life.
Bucky heads home from work, having upgraded to a third-floor walk up with two actual rooms and plenty of windows for natural light. As he opens the door, there’s a chirrup and Binx comes hurtling toward him, a little black ball of fuzz with great green eyes.
“Hello,” Bucky says, bending down to meet her little headbutt. She meows more and more, and Bucky answers. He tells her about the new nano tech that Tony Stark has invented, and how excited he is to play with it, and Binx, well, he imagines she’s telling him about a bird that landed on the balcony, or maybe the fierce battle she had with her toy mouse.
“Tell me all about it,” Bucky says, and Binx meows, meeps, and chirrups, leaving Bucky feeling delighted. He refills her food bowl and checks her water fountain, and she follows along, never letting Bucky out of her sight.
When he’s done, they go to the living room, where Bucky pulls out her toy basket and and sits down to play with her. When she’s had enough, Binx crawls into Bucky’s lap, rolls over to show her belly and purrs.
In truth, Bucky credits a lot of his recovery - because that’s what it feels like, so that’s what he calls it - to Binx. By the time Sam found him in that alley, he’d been wracked with sobs, trying hard not to shake too much, so that he didn’t disturb the cat. When Sam gently pulled Bucky to his feet, Bucky set the cat down and tried to walk away, but Binx wasn’t having it. She leaped up into Bucky’s arms, sat herself on his shoulder and purred very loudly into his ear.
“Looks like you got yourself a cat, man,” Sam said.
“I don’t...I - Yeah. I guess so.” (It should be noted that he did post fliers and ads, and he took her to a vet to see if she had a chip. He wasn’t going to just steal someone’s cat, geez, Sam.)
Since then, even on days when all Bucky wants to do is lay in bed and feel sorry for himself, he still has to get up to take care of Binx. The first time she woke him from a nightmare by laying on his chest and purring loudly, Bucky chalked it up to coincidence. However, after it happened three, four, five times, he began to think that maybe there was something there.
Regardless, he adores the little black cat, and she seems to love him right back.
He’s watching her leap through the air, going after a feathered mouse that Bucky was launching. Most of the time she’d catch it and bring it back for him to throw again. It’s a fun game, but his mind is wandering toward dinner when the phone rings.
Bucky considers letting it go to voicemail when he doesn’t recognize the number, but then remembers that he’d given his number out to a couple of guys at group, so he answers.
“Barnes,” he says.
“Mr. Barnes? This is Phil Coulson. We have - that is, there’s a - would it be possible for you to come to our headquarters?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“There’s been - I’m sorry, I can’t explain more over the phone.”
A moment later, there’s a knock on Bucky’s door. Answering, he finds a big man in a nice suit looking at him from behind sunglasses and holding up a badge. The ID says SHIELD.
“Agent Coulson sent me,” the man says. “We’re ready to transport you to HQ.”
“Did you - there’s a guy here,” Bucky says.
“Oh, oh excellent. Rodney will accompany you.”
“What the hell is going on?” Bucky asks.
There’s a quiet pause on the phone, and Coulson speaks again. “I’m sorry,” he starts. “I can’t tell you anything over the phone. Your line isn’t secure. If you’ll come to headquarters, I’ll explain everything, but please, come now?”
Bucky’s feeling suspicious, but also - God - is it hopeful? He’s feeling hopeful? Whatever it is, it’s unexpected.
He wants to say no. He has no doubt that whatever is going on is going to set his recovery back, no question about it.
But he also knows that if he doesn’t go, the curiosity will plague him. He’s fucked either way.
Locking up, Bucky follows Rodney out into the hall. When Bucky heads to the staircase, Rodney taps his arm.
“This way, please, Mr. Barnes. We have a helicopter the roof.”
“A helicopter,” he repeats, stunned.
With a touch to Bucky’s elbow, Rodney reminds him that they need to get moving. Bucky follows him up the staircase.
Bucky’s not sure what’s going on, and as he wonders, he realizes he’s getting warm. True, he’s walking up several flights of stairs, but then, he does that every day anyway. When he grabs the banister, his fingers tingle with warmth.
“What the…?” He stops, touches his fingers to his face, and he feels warm all over, warmer than he’s felt in years now.
“Oh, god,” he says, holding tight to the banister, then leaning against the wall. “Oh, god. You found his body, didn’t you?”
.
As the helicopter lands at SHIELD headquarters, Bucky watches as Phil Coulson crosses the landing pad to meet them.
As soon as the door’s open and the headphones are off, Bucky’s in his face.
“You found his body. Is that why I’m here? You found...you found….” Taking another steadying breath, Bucky leans down, hands on his knees.
“Mr. Barnes, please, if you would just come with me.”
Coulson places a steadying hand on Bucky’s arm, and Bucky straightens and follows him, head spinning. The SHIELD office are neat and spacious. When they get on the elevator, Bucky’s surprised when it greets him.
“Barnes, James Buchanan. Welcome to SHIELD.”
Bucky gives Phil a questioning look, but Phil just smiles his Mona Lisa smile.
“Mr. Coulson, all due respect, but what the hell is going on?”
“Just a few more minutes,” he says, and then leans forward as the elevator requests a retinal scan.
“Security level seven access denied. This floor is for authorized personnel only,” the elevator says. “Mr. Barnes is not authorized.”
“Override protocols,” Coulson says. “Authority: Fury, Nicholas J.”
There’s a pause before the elevator says, “Protocol override approved by Fury, Nicholas J.”
Just then, the elevator doors open and Bucky is taken into a small conference room with a very large screen. There are a couple of other people at the table: a beautiful woman with her dark hair up in a twist and a quiet aura of strength; a black man in a leather trench coat with a patch over one eye, and a redhead who looks like...it’s just that she kind of looks like….
“Holy shit you’re the Black Widow,” Bucky says, unable to contain himself.
He leans back against the door, trying to steady himself. Whatever is going on, it’s big. There is no way they’re gonna let him in a room with the Black Widow of all people if it isn’t something big.
“Have a seat,” the black man says. The brunette woman tosses a file folder his way, and Bucky takes it, opening it to see a stack of papers littered with little yellow “sign here” post-its. He looks up at Coulson.
“Mr. Barnes, this is Director Fury,” Coulson says, indicating the man with the patch, “Maria Hill, and, I believe you recognized Miss Natalia Romanova.”
“Mr. Barnes,” Fury says, and Bucky finds himself straightening up at the sound, like a kid caught daydreaming in class. “The information that we are about to share with you is highly classified.”
Bucky nods. “Go on.”
Two hours later, Bucky’s still in a state of shock. What they’re talking about isn’t possible, but he’s looking at the proof: Steve Rogers lays in a hospital bed, his breathing deep and even.
He’s dressed in soft pants and a t-shirt that’s maybe just a little too small. Bucky doesn’t want to think about someone handling him - dressing or undressing him, not while he was so vulnerable.
He’s - Christ, he’s beautiful.
His long lashes lay against his cheek, tipped in blonde so light they almost disappear. There’s color in his face, his cheeks are a little flushed, his bottom lip is plump and red. Bucky wonders whether the room is too warm for Steve, but Bucky feels fine, so he lets it go. Otherwise, Steve’s skin is pale, but not unnaturally so.
Fury asked Bucky if he felt anything different, anything strange. The doctors said they couldn’t detect any brain damage, but they also couldn’t believe that anyone could survive for as long as Steve had without it.
Bucky doesn’t know what to expect. He’s trying to think of how to introduce himself when Steve’s breathing picks up.
He watches as Steve comes awake, blinking once, twice, before sitting up and looking around.
The room is modern but sparse. Director Fury suggested mocking the room up to look like it was still 1945, but Bucky rejected the idea. Steve’s a smart man. Any pretense will impair their trust from the beginning.
Steve’s looking down at himself, then around the room again, before his eyes land on Bucky.
He stares, squinting a little and looking confused. Bucky’s just about to say something when Steve speaks.
“Bucky?”
Bucky can’t fight the smile, or the tears that wet his eyes on hearing Steve say his name. “You know me?” he asks.
“You’re Bucky. You’re...how do I know you?”
Nodding, Bucky looks away, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat.
“Where am I?” Steve asks, and this one, Bucky can answer.
“New York - Manhattan actually. In a SHIELD facility. Ahm, I guess you used to know it as the SSR? They’re not called that anymore, now they’re SHIELD, and don’t ask me what that stands for, because, buddy I have no idea.”
Steve takes a deep breath, then takes another look around. Bucky watches as Steve notices the decor, the materials that everything is made of. His eyes flick over the keypad entry to the next room, then flick back, studying it for a moment.
He turns to look at Bucky again. “When am I?”
Dipping his head down, Bucky scratches the back of his neck. It’s not that he feels sorry for Steve, but Christ, how the hell is he supposed to explain this?
“What do you last remember?”
Steve sits up straighter and presses his lips flat, and it’s that fight me stance that Bucky is so, so fond of.
“The Valkyrie. I had to bring her down.” His words are resolute.
Bucky nods. “We thought you went down in the ocean. They searched -- god, Howard Stark never gave up searching. But it turns out you went down over Greenland. They think that the heat from the plane melted the snow, until it sank down into the ice, and the next snowfall covered it up. Then global warming came and the permafrost finally shifted enough to bring the plane back up to the surface.”
“How long?” Steve asks. “How long was I down there?” Steve’s squaring off again, his tone a little bit angry and Bucky can’t help but see the spitfire kid he grew up laid over the righteous man in front of him.
“Alright,” Bucky says, holding his hands up and not even fighting the fond smile taking over his face. “Okay. You,” and this part is hard. This part is so hard. “You’ve been gone for almost seventy years.”
Bucky’s not sure, but he thinks his voice trembles a little at the end. He feels something like a sob rising in his chest, a feeling of overwhelming sorrow, decades lost, but that can’t be right because if it is, that means...that means….
“Oh, God,” Bucky says, . “Is that you? Jesus, Steve.” He brings a hand up to rub at his chest, right over his heart. “Steve, I’m so sorry.”
Steve looks alarmed, like he’s going to bolt, and Bucky gets his head together long enough to do the thing he was brought here to do. The thing that no one else in the world could do. He gathers up everything he feels for Steve, all of the affection, all of the hard-won peace that he’s found, his acceptance that he’d never know Steve, but that he’d love him all the same. For the rest of his life, he’d love him all the same.
He takes that ball of emotion and he pushes it into the Steve-shaped space in his heart, in his mind.
Steve gasps, and bodily sways back from Bucky, eyes growing wide. “You’re- how?”
Bucky stands and approaches Steve, reaching his hand out, moving so slow. Steve watches as Bucky nears, his expression inscrutable.
As gently as he can, Bucky brings his hand to Steve’s, brushing the tips of his fingers over the back of Steve’s hand.
He’s holding his breath, and Steve is, too.
The moment they touch, it’s -- it’s nothing Bucky’s ever felt before. All the years of hurting, of loneliness, all of the times that he’d longed for Steve, ached for him, all of that disappears. Instead, he’s filled with all of the other stuff, the good stuff. He’s filled with the moments of watching Steve grow up, his fondness turning to affection, turning to love. He’s left with the pride he felt at what a good, decent man Steve became, he’s left with his acceptance of a life without Steve, quietly loving him, his whole life through.
Steve’s eyes widen, and he reaches out, taking Bucky’s hand in his. Bucky wants to use the connection to push all of his love, all of his strength into Steve, but instead he’s hit with Steve’s feelings, and nothing could have prepared him for that.
He feels Steve, lonely, scared, and cold, and then he feels when that shifts. He feels Steve’s curiosity, his excitement. He’d waited so long for his soulmate, and somehow, there Bucky was. He watched as Bucky grew up, through Bucky’s angry years, and his attempts to say good-bye, his attempts to move on, and then through his hard-won peace. Steve got all of that, loved all of that.
“How…?” Steve asks.
“I don’t know,” Bucky says, looking down at their entwined fingers. “I don’t really care.”
Reaching up with his other hand, Steve strokes his fingers along Bucky’s jaw, tilting his face up toward Steve’s. Bucky’s eyes flutter closed for a moment.
When people talk about meeting their soulmate, they talk about how it feels like home, how they just knew.
None of them ever talk about the absolute absence of pain, of fear, of doubt.
This isn’t coming home.
This is safety and comfort, admiration and affection, and the softest stirrings of lust. This is certainty he didn’t know could exist, and all of it bubbling along a current of joy that sings through Bucky’s entire being.
This is love.
“I didn’t think you existed,” Steve says.
“I never thought this could happen,” Bucky replies.
He reaches out, puts a hand on Steve’s hip, and a moment later, Steve is pulling him forward, into his space. His eyes are bright blue, and in them, Bucky sees everything he’s ever wanted.
Steve’s fingers are holding tight to Bucky’s shirt, Bucky’s hand.
“I’ve waited my whole life for you,” Bucky says, squeezing Steve’s hip. “My whole life.”
Steve smiles. It’s small but it’s grateful. Hopeful.
Leaning down he presses a soft kiss to Bucky’s lips, before pulling him into his arms and holding him tight.
Bucky nestles his head into the crook of Steve’s neck, breathing him in, and he smells exactly the way Bucky always thought he would. This is the part that feels like home.
Bucky and Steve are finally home.
A/N: This is the last full chapter, but I am writing a little epilogue that will go up at some point this weekend when I have actual time to write again. This will eventually post to AO3.
Thank you all for going on this ride with me. You have been nothing short of amazing, and I have LOVED getting to know some of you.
Last but not least, thank you to @frostbitebakery who is as kind and generous as she is talented. Go peep her art and give her some love. She deserves every bit of it.
I have this angsty head Canon about a world-weary Cap dating a younger, earnest bucky and things going disastrously wrong when Bucky wakes up one morning and says “I love you” and Cap is like, uh, “that’s ok.” This is how it goes (angsty, rated M-ish for mature themes):
Steve wakes early, thinking about a run. He’s almost made to pull off the covers and get moving when he realizes that the frantic energy he usually starts the day with isn’t there. Instead, he feels…he feels okay. So he turns over, pulls Bucky into his arms, closes his eyes, and goes back to sleep.
It’s later in the morning when he wakes again. He’s been at a light doze, flitting in and out of dreams that disappear the moment he’s conscious enough to take a look at them. He considers closing his eyes and going back to sleep, but his body is suddenly very aware that he has a handsome, lithe, twenty-four year-old kid in his bed, and well, it’s interested.
Bucky must sense he’s waking, because he snuggles deeper into Steve’s arms. He snuffles against Steve’s neck, pressing a kiss there, before sighing, “I love you.”
Steve doesn’t move.
It must take a moment for Bucky’s brain to catch up with his mouth, because suddenly he freezes. “Shit,” he whispers, and Steve feels the breath of it against his skin.
“That’s, uh, okay,” he says.
And fuck. Fuck!
He knows it’s the wrong thing to say the moment it leaves his mouth, but he can’t say the right thing, the thing the kid wants to hear, because that would be a lie, and he’s way past lying to save someone’s feelings. That opens up bigger problems for everyone.
They lay like that for another moment, and then Bucky slides out of his arms. “Gonna shower,” he says, and sure. He’s probably embarrassed, or at the least, feeling sheepish.
“I’ll make coffee,” Steve says. He pulls on a pair of boxer briefs, the kind he knows Bucky likes, and pads out to the kitchen to start the coffee. He figures the kid’ll be in the shower a while, so he gets started on some omelets, slides a tray of bacon into the oven, and pulls out the carton of fruit salad from the deli on the corner.
By the time Bucky’s out of the shower, the food’s ready. They sit down to eat, but the air is heavy, stilted.
“Listen,” Steve starts, and Bucky holds up his hand.
“Just…don’t. I didn’t mean to say it,” he says, and Steve’s breath catches in his throat.
This kid. Christ. He’s all pale, creamy skin and blue-gray eyes that are currently snapping fire at him.
“I didn’t mean to say it, but I don’t regret it either. Is that going to be a problem?”
Steve breathes deep because yeah, yeah he guesses it is.
Bucky’s watching him, eyes wide. His mouth, God. Steve’s done a hundred lewd things to that mouth. Wants to do a hundred more.
Then Bucky blinks. Looks down at his plate. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.”
He stands up and Steve watches him.
He’s seen a lot of things since they pulled him out of the ocean, out of the ice. He’s battled aliens and robots and those weirds sentient plants that sprayed out the purple mist that made everyone want to fight for the longest six days of Steve’s life. He watched the love of his life wither and die, enduring the heartbreak each time she forgot him, and each time she remembered.
He’s watched his friends start to settle down. Clint and Nat – saw that one coming a mile away. Tony and Pepper never married, but Pepper’s having his baby, due in October, and Tony’s a damned mess. Sam’s got a girl he’s seeing regular. Doesn’t bring her around the tower, but Steve’s out a weekend running partner, and Sam’s smiling a whole lot easier these days.
He’s seen a lot of things in his time out of the ice. Learned a lot about technology, learned a lot about himself, about humanity. Maybe some things he wishes he hadn’t. But watching Bucky walk to the bedroom, shoulders high and tight, that’s something he didn’t see coming. He hurts for the kid, he does.
But he’s not going to lie. Not going to say something he doesn’t feel.
Fact is, Steve thinks he’s probably past all that.
Watching Peg die, SHIELD fall, watching a bunch of suits try to seize power and turn the Avengers into their lapdogs? None of that was good. Steve’s come to terms with it all, best he can, but he can’t find it in him to wish for some kind of happily ever after.
Meeting Bucky, well, that seemed like just enough good luck. And maybe a little bit like something Steve deserved, after all these years. They were at the SI Holiday party, the one for all the folks working on Avenger’s tech, the one with all of Tony’s pets. He’d been talking to Dr. Cho and looked over when he felt someone watching him.
Bucky was eyeing him up, looking tall and handsome in a tux, his hair gelled up into that stylish disorder that Tony seems to appreciate. He saw Steve catch him staring, bit his lip, then smirked over the top of his glass of champagne.
Getting him into bed took no time at all, and Steve was thrilled with how enthusiastic, how eager Bucky was.
He’d dated some age-appropriate people, and he’d spent a lot of time with his own dick in his hand, so having someone who didn’t just tolerate Steve’s ramped up drive, but actually appreciated it? Well, suddenly the weekends had a whole lot to look forward to.
He was a smart kid, too. Kind and funny, crazy about his family and dedicated to his work. The first time he told Steve he’d have to reschedule because he was working late, Steve breathed a sigh of relief.
It was good to have someone who understood about work. About responsibilities.
He just hadn’t thought the kid was going to go and catch feelings.
Steve’s not surprised when Bucky emerges from the bedroom with his overnight bag. He walks over to the living room and retrieves his laptop, stowing it in the padded sleeve and zipping it into his overnight bag.
He stops at the kitchen table, where Steve is still sitting like a fucking punk, and sets down his bag. He strokes a hand across Steve’s face before tipping it up. He’s looking down at Steve and Steve wants to wrap his arms around this kid, hold him tight and kiss his face, anything to get that look off of it –that brave little soldier look. Steve’s seen enough of that look to last a lifetime.
“I knew what I was getting into,” Bucky says. “And I don’t regret it.”
He leans down and kisses the corner of Steve’s mouth, once, twice, then stands again. “Take care of yourself, Stevie,” he says, and Christ, Steve can hear the hurt in his voice.
“Hey,” he says. “Hey.” He reaches out and wraps an arm around Bucky’s waist, pulling him in tight, pressing his face into Bucky’s belly. He’d expected Bucky to be soft everywhere, but was surprised – and delighted – to find that Bucky had abs and well-defined muscles underneath all that lithe grace.
“Okay,” Steve says, finally. “Okay.” He presses a kiss to Bucky’s stomach. “Go…fix the world,” he says, and Bucky gives him a tight-lipped smile as he pulls away.
A moment later he hears the door close and figures that’s that.
It was a good run.
.
“I don’t know what to tell you Steve,” Dr. Cho says, putting aside her stethoscope. “You’re in perfect health – just like always.”
“Okay, yeah,” he says. “Thanks.”
“Is there anything more you can tell me about your symptoms?”
Steve thinks back to the last couple of weeks. “No,” he says. “I feel lethargic, and kind of…achy? Like maybe I’m coming down with a cold.”
“I’d like to do some additional tests. It could be any number of things.”
It could be the serum finally breaking down is what she doesn’t say, but they both hear it anyway.
“Yeah,” Steve says. “Sure.”
But three days later, the tests all come back, and nothing’s changed. Steve is still the picture of health, the serum working overtime to ensure that he remains that way.
“Have there been any significant changes?” Cho asks.
Steve thinks back, but there’s nothing remarkable. “I was seeing someone, but we called it quits.”
“Was it serious?”
“Not – not for me,” he admits. He still hates that Bucky got hurt, but he supposes it was inevitable. Lesson learned.
“Hmm,” she says, and Steve looks up. “It’s just…a lot of these symptoms – it could be depression.”
“Nah,” Steve says. “Saw a head shrinker back when they first pulled me out. I’m all good.”
Cho purses her lips. “I’d still like to have a look at your serotonin levels, if that’s okay.”
“Yeah,” Steve says, rolling up his sleeve. “Sure.”
.
“What the hell do I have to be depressed about?” Steve gripes.
Sam shrugs, then dodges the next blow coming his way. He’s not enhanced like the rest of the Avengers (you will never, ever convince him that Clint doesn’t have a bionic eye – no one is that good), so he has to be extra alert when he’s sparring with them. Especially with Steve, who has been a real bear lately.
“Gee,” Sam says, grunting as he lunges forward. “I can’t imagine.”
“Hey, I’m serious,” Steve says.
“You know, Rogers, for someone so smart, you sure are dumb.”
“What does that mean?” Steve asks. “Nat said the same damned thing.”
“Lord,” Sam says, rolling his eyes.
Steve swings around, bringing in a left while coming up from below with his right. Sam blocks one and dodges the other, then steps back and holds up his hands.
“Means it’s been so damned long since you’ve been happy, you didn’t recognize it when you had it. And now it’s gone and you’re feeling it.”
Steve stands back, staring, and then starts unlacing his gloves.
Sam is prepared to spell things out further if he has to, but he hopes he won’t have to. It’ll be better if Steve gets it on his own. From the gleam in his eye, Sam thinks he’s just about there. He hopes so anyway. Happiness looks good on Steve Rogers, even if he doesn’t know it.
.
“Hey,” Bucky says, as he opens the door. “Oh.”
He takes Steve in and Steve sees the bright light in Bucky’s eyes, a genuine smile on his lips, and Steve’s chest aches to see it. Then Bucky tamps it down and all that light, brightness, leaves his face.
“Hey,” Steve says. “Sorry to just.…” He shrugs.
“Thought you were the pizza,” Bucky says. The looks he’s giving Steve – irritated and sullen. Damn. He looks every bit the kid that Steve had him pegged for.
After a beat, Bucky’s eyes widen and the irritated look gives way to confusion. “Did you want something?”
“Yeah, I think, uhm. I missed you,” Steve says and Bucky looks good and unimpressed.
“Well,” Bucky says, and that derisive tone is not a good look on him. “You think you missed me? So what, you come over here, expecting…” and there he shrugs.
“Buck,” Steve says, and reaches out to touch, but Bucky moves away.
“No way,” he says, shaking his head. “You know, I was fine with how things were? I mean, you’re – you’re Captain America, but you’re also Steve. You’re him, too. And I was okay just having a little bit of Steve. I was okay with not having it all the way. I didn’t ask you to love me back, Steve.”
“I know, Buck, I –“
“No,” Bucky says, and he’s really getting some steam going now. Steve can see it in the way his cheeks get those two bright splotches, high up on his cheekbones, the way they get when he –
“You don’t get to show up here because you’re lonely,” Bucky says. “I deserve better than that. I deserve better than someone who keeps calling me kid, throwing my age up in my face all the time like I don’t know. I know, Steve. Jesus.”
He’s – Christ, he’s gorgeous. Just…glorious in his anger, all pink faced and red lips, eyes blazing like nothing Steve has ever seen before and he – he wants it. He wants Bucky coming at him, telling him he’s wrong and putting him in his place. He likes the soft Sunday mornings, the nuzzling, snuffling, coming awake slow, bodies getting what they want, soft and easy. But he wants this, too.
It his him then, hard and visceral, in his gut the way it hasn’t until right now: He’s in love with this kid. He’s in love with – with – with Bucky. He’s in love with him.
Steve feels winded all of a sudden, and vulnerable like he hasn’t in years. He’s looking at Bucky, but what he’s seeing is his heart, beating there outside of his chest, where anything, anyone, can come along and harm it.
It’s – He takes a deep, steadying breath, and then another. He wants to reach out, grab Bucky and hold him tight, shield him with his body so that nothing can ever hurt him. Hurt them.
Bucky sees something’s wrong. The fire dies down a touch and instead his brows knit with confusion. “Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah, I –“ His mind races, catching up, cataloging all of this new information, finally realizing what his body’s been trying to tell him for weeks. He feels winded because he finally sees this all from Bucky’s point of view: how they never go out, how Steve never invites him to meet any of the team, any of his friends. How he’ll answer any question Bucky asks, but he still keeps his guard up.
God, he’s a shit.
“Bucky,” he says, and he straightens up and looks Bucky right in the eyes. “I’m,” he shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know, and I handled everything so badly. I’m –“ in love with you. He means to say it, but he – not now. This isn’t the time or place. Not like this.
Bucky’s standing back, looking skeptical, but listening.
“You’re right about everything,” Steve says with a shrug. “You deserve so much better than this. And I hope, I mean, if-“
“Delivery for Barnes?”
Steve turns, startled. There’s a pizza guy behind him holding one of those padded bags and how the hell did he miss that guy slogging up the three flights to Bucky’s apartment?
“Thanks,” Bucky says, and Steve steps aside to let the transaction occur.
As Bucky’s signing his name, a strand of his hair escapes its gelled confinement and falls across his forehead. His tongue is sticking out and he’s holding the receipt to the wall and shaking out the pen, trying to get the ink to run.
“I love you,” Steve says.
Bucky startles, stops, and looks at him, eyes wide.
They stare at each other in shocked silence for a moment, until the pizza guy clears his throat.
“I love you,” Steve says again, because now that he’s said it he doesn’t know how to stop. He’s said those words to three people in his life: His Ma, Peggy, and now Bucky. “I hope that’s good news,” he says, “but I’ll go if you want me too. I love you and you should – you should know that. If it makes a difference.”
Bucky doesn’t say anything, and the pizza guy clears his throat again.
Without taking his eyes from Bucky, Steve reaches for his wallet and pulls out a couple of bills. “That cover it?” he asks. It must, because the guy hands Steve the pizza and leaves.
Bucky’s still staring at him, and Steve’s starting to worry. Did he leave it too long?
Turning, Bucky walks into his apartment and Steve follows, closing the door behind him. He looks around. It’s small but neatly furnished. Steve knows Tony pays well, but Bucky is still new to his career. It strikes him then that while he’s been here to pick Bucky up, he’s never actually spent any time here, and feels like an asshole all over again.
“Shit,” he says. “You probably thought I didn’t want to meet your friends.”
“You didn’t,” Bucky says, and he’s right. Steve wasn’t thinking of Bucky in any way other than how they could spend time together, alone, and preferably naked. All those other things, cooking together and listening to music, Bucky working at the dining room table while Steve sketched. All that was just extra. An afterthought. He hadn’t even realized it was the best part. Or he had, but he’d hidden that away from himself, afraid of what it might mean to be let himself feel that way about someone again.
“I do now,” Steve says. “I want –“ so many things. Things, he’s coming to realize, he might not get.
“Why?” Bucky says. “Why now? Did you finally get lonely enough? Because Steve, there are plenty of people who would fuck you, no strings attached. No feelings.”
“I don’t want that,” Steve says. It’s kicking up his temper, Bucky mouthing off to him like that. He knows he has a right, hell, he knows that it’s his due. But he’s had other people following his orders for so long, it riles him when they don’t. It riles him to be questioned.
He reaches out for Bucky, and this time, Bucky doesn’t bat him away. He settles a hand on Bucky’s waist, then another, and pulls him close. His heart is beating hard.
What he wants is to devour this kid – this man – in front of him. What he wants is to open his mouth and swallow him whole.
Instead, he tips his head down, and brushes the softest, lightest kiss he can manage against Bucky’s warm lips.
It takes him a moment to realize his hands are trembling.
“I love you,” he says, soft, a whisper, so that Bucky can feel it against his lips.
For a moment, he’s afraid that Bucky will push him away.
“That’s okay,” Bucky says, and reaches his arms up around Steve’s neck. “That’s…going to be just fine.”
By the time they surface from their next kiss, the pizza’s gone cold.
“Come on,” Steve says, taking in Bucky’s disappointed pout. “I know this amazing place in Brooklyn. We’ll eat it there. I brought the bike.”
Bucky looks at him for a long moment before a genuine smile lights his face. He looks so fresh, so young. It’s dazzling.
Steve’s been an absolute fool.
“Yeah,” he says, and goes to the closet for the leather jacket that Steve bought him the first time he’d picked him up on the bike.
When he turns around, Steve takes a moment to zip it up, tightening the band at the collar and checking that the turtle shell armor is still in place. When he’s satisfied, he looks up and Bucky’s giving him the most indulgent grin.
“Shut up,” Steve says, leaning down to brush another kiss at Bucky’s mouth. “I take care of what’s mine.”
“Does that mean I’m yours?”
“It means that one day I hope to have earned it.”
The grin that Bucky gives him is feral and hot.
“Why don’t you start working on that now?” he says, and Steve grins.
“Because you’re hungry.”
“Baby I’m starving. I feel like I haven’t eaten in weeks.”
Steve grins, unable to take his eyes off of the incredible man in his arms. Now that he’s letting himself see it, he wonders how he ever saw anything else.
“Thank you,” he says, wrapping his arms around Bucky and holding him tight. “Thank you.”
“Yeah?” Bucky says. “Well don’t let it happen again.”
