For FrozenAssets

[brooklyn_boy]

 The strange thing was that Steve had never really been alone before. The closest he got was in DC with the small apartment and the ghosts of the past he kept close to him at all times. But even then, he had the Avengers. He had constant contact with Tony and the rest of the team. Missions to keep him occupied so that the moments with just his record player and books felt like a break more than stifling isolation. But now, after all that had happened? 

Now he truly felt alone. 

Europe had the unique ability to move forward in time while preserving the past in small isolated bubbles. Steve slipped into England at nightfall and trusted his new beard and darker hair to stop instant recognition from getting him arrested. He was a fugitive, after all. The only place he was truly safe now was Wakanda and he'd fled from that protection as soon as he could. 

It wasn't ingratitude that had him running. It wasn't duty either although he used that as a convenient excuse. It was that ever since Bucky closed his eyes in the cryotube, Steve had felt an ache of loneliness open up inside of him and for the first time since waking up in the 21st century, he couldn't figure out how to handle it. 

The feeling was unfair to Nat and Sam. Both of them were around more than they weren't and were there for him in a way that was complicated and profound. They both had turned their back on so much to stand at his side. But Nat had her own missions to disappear on and Sam had a family he couldn't reach that tore him up inside. And Steve? The only family he'd ever known here was once more locked away. Close enough to touch and yet still inaccessible. Failed yet again by Steve who tried so hard to protect his best friend and came up short. 

Too slow to grab his hand. Too late to save his mind. Too weak to keep him safe. Forever destined, it seemed, to say goodbye and be left behind. 

To be alone. 

And so he ran. He ran back to one of those bubbles in time that England had. A bar made, destroyed, and then rebuilt on the same ground like a phoenix rising. The place where he and Bucky had drank a beer and started their journey into the war. Where Bucky had looked at a six-foot man brimming with muscles and had seen a little guy from Brooklyn where he'd always been. And where Steve had gone back to mourn that first time he'd lost Bucky two days before he died himself. 

Steve wasn't sure why he needed to be there. He just did. At this time of day it was closed and dark which fit his mood well enough. Nat had taught him how to get into such places unseen and when he did, the past pushed against him like a too-tight hug. It was comforting and suffocating all at the same time and the choked out sob bubbled up before he could stop it. He wanted to go <i>back</i>. Back to the war when things were so much simpler. Back to the days when he knew who he was and what role he had to play. Back when he had Bucky and wasn't so <i>alone</i>, even in a crowd. 

He walked to the counter and it was new and not when his hands fell on it. It looked the same as where he and Bucky sat. New wood made with old designs; the attempt to make things the way they'd always been and getting as close as you could while still falling short. His nails scratched against the wood as they curled into fists, body bowing over the spot like he were praying. Perhaps he was. For what though, he couldn't say. 

Steve's head lifted up and red eyes looked at the bar, desperate for a drink. There was a row of items there from the time the bar was destroyed. Trinkets and antiques left behind after the bombings and the bloodshed. Steve walked behind and let his fingertips brush over them, remembering when they had been new. Mugs. Buttons. Medals. And there, at the end, something different. Something brighter than the rest. Something old and new at the same time that called him back in a way he couldn't explain. 

Steve reached for it, unsure of what it was or why it seemed so important. But it did. And as his fingertips stroked over it, the burst of nostalgia that came over him was enough to bring him to his knees. Like he was touching the past. Bridging the gap. 

If only such a thing could be done...

Comments

[frozenassets]

[ooc; might be a bit tl;dr, will go to normal tag length on next round. I was thinking Bucky’s coin got tainted by whatever HYDRA research particles were in the air and responds to Steve’s matching set found in the bar]

Bucky practically lives for the raids that end with a HYDRA facility razed off the earth. There’s nothing like putting a bullet in one of ‘em and knowing you’d made the world just slightly better than when it started.

Sometimes, Bucky feels, it’s the only thing that keeps him going that week. That kinda thing would get the docs thinking twice about putting him on the front lines if they knew, so Bucky knows better. Keeps a lid on it. And hell, he doesn’t even want to know how Steve would feel about it if he found out. So Bucky keeps keeps his head down, ‘yes-sir and no-sir’s as needed and just asks where you need him to point and shoot.

But HYDRA R&D? Those’re the worst, Bucky thinks, as he slips out as soon as he can from the debrief and before they get sent to the docs and nurses to get checked out. Bucky’s also a real pro at that too.

Every time you think you’ve seen it all, the twisted bastards over at HYDRA R&D find new ways to give a guy the willies. Bucky can still feeling the crackling rush over his body when he’d entered that last room to find the scientists sprawled out, frothing at the mouth, on the floor like walking through a lightning storm. As it turns out…out sometimes the garbage could take itself to the curb, but even now, Bucky can still see the jars filled with twisted forms, the strange, twisted devices and the chemical stench to the air that gets the hairs rising all over his body.

Bucky makes his way through the sprawl of streets, finally allowing himself to rub the grit smeared against his forehead and smooth his hair back into something kinda respectable as he makes his way to a bar that’s becoming a second home. He’s been there so much that the bartender already starts to get his poison ready when he sees Bucky’s shape through the front windows, so when Bucky slips into a near empty bar with a tight smile, there’s a tumblr of their strongest whiskey ready for him.

Bucky takes a swig just so he doesn’t think too hard on the nice, dangerous heat that twists in his belly when the slender blond smiles at him. The guy looks like Steve - his Steve, before the War got him - in a carnival mirror, and it’s close enough that Bucky feels plenty guilty here. It’s just hard not to do something stupid - something blue ticket worthy - after today. The pretty fella leaves him to it, and Bucky’s hunched over the bar as he tries to drink the world away.

On days like this, Bucky’s hand dips into his jacket to the penny nearly worn free of its face, thumb rubbing over it. It’s stupid, really, but Bucky had saved them when they were shiny and new, and given Steve a matching one. Something to remember when they made it big, you know? Remember where they came from? Bucky’d maybe be a teacher or an actor or something, and Steve’d be an artist big enough to knock ole’ Norman on his ass. It’s stupid; it’s from a world before this FUBARed mess, but Bucky finds himself coming back to it.

Bucky closes his eyes as he feels the familiar, faded ridges, even as this uneasiness sneaks into him and slowly, sneakily blossoms into an emptiness that the booze isn’t helping with. Somehow…somehow it’s gotta do with Steve, and his body knows before he does that Steve needs help. Needs him

He opens his eyes…and freezes. ‘Cause this is the same bar, except it’s not really; it’s dark here, and that pretty bartender isn’t there anymore. There’s a guy behind the bar built like a brick house, with hair that’s too long and a face cast in shadow, and when Bucky glances around, it’s to find the rest of the bar closed and looking too clean like it wasn’t nearly shelled a couple times.

“The hell?!” Bucky blurts out, hand drifting towards the knife hidden under his shirt, as he glances around.

[brooklyn_boy]

Sarah Rogers had precious few books in the house. She'd wanted so many more but that was a luxury she often couldn't afford. The ones on the shelf were often old and had history behind them; long-gone relatives that had cared for them and passed them along with love. But between those old, cherished tomes were a few newer ones as well. The books that she'd, after Steve had grown and developed a taste for trouble, thought he'd needed to read. And one of the first books in that elite series was The Lady of the Barge.

Specifically because Sarah needed Steve to read The Monkey's Paw.

Hearing the curse, Steve turns around fast, alarmed that he could be snuck up on. However, that shock dies immediately as he faces the same ghost he'd been praying for just seconds before.

It's impossible. It's completely impossible. And yet Steve can't deny his own eyes. Not here with no sign of Wanda and her nightmare powers nor Loki with his magic. There's nothing to explain this miracle away save a break with his sanity.

And it is a telling thing that Steve considers that option favourably.

He turns back toward the metal item he'd just touched and lifts it from the spot. There's nothing obvious about it. Nothing that seems magical or special in any way. But as he holds it, Steve remembers the story of the monkey paw. That too bad been ordinary, hadn't it? But that had been a story and this was real life. Still, he remembers his mother reading it to him when he came home brokenhearted and wishing so desperately for his life to be different. He remembers it so well.

Changing fate comes with consequences, the story had told him. Wishes could be dangerous and gifts could come with horrible strings.

And still...

Steve turns back, half expecting Bucky to be gone or replaced with something monstrous. He's not. He's there, just as before, with all the small details Steve's memory had lost with time. He's real. Real in a way that defies alternative explanations. And Steve understands all at once the pleading of the wife in The Monkey's Paw as she demanded to have her wish for her son to be resurrected.

He would have accepted so much less. Steve would have fallen on his knees in gratitude for a shade of the man he'd lost. He would give anything in the world just to bring the broken man he wanted to rescue even some peace. But this?

Bucky sits at the bar alarmed and confused and Steve can't even speak. He says nothing as he walks slowly around the side and toward this strange miracle. His hands are shaking at his side.

Steve stops a foot or so away. His whole body feels like it's trembling and he can't bring himself to care.

If this was his doing, then so be it. If his longing and need cast this wish and brought Bucky here, then fine. And if he was damned for it like all desperate wishers seemed to be, then Steve accepted it gladly. He'll take the curses and the pain because what more could really be done to him? Even for a moment, here, he has Bucky.

It's worth everything, to him. It's worth any and every cost.

"Bucky?" The word falls from his lips already broken before it hits the floor. He has no idea how he even manages to speak at all. But he does.

"Bucky? Is...that really you?"

[frozenassets]

Bucky’s throat works when his stomach tumbles on itself like a circus act, like it’s decided to realize it seems like the world’s managed to jump around them. What the hell just happened? It’s the bar he was in, but there’s something off about it at the same time - and that’s ignoring the part where the pretty bartender up and vanished, and so did the few customers nursing their drinks.

Instead, it’s lights out in here, and there’s only a man with broad, broad shoulders and powerful arms that look a little like they could snap his rifle in half. Bucky’s hand settles on the knife…and yet something in him’s practically screaming at him not to knife this guy, even before the fella whirls around.

The knife goes clattering to the ground the next second, and for once, Bucky forgets all about the part where he's not got a single weapon on him anymore.

Bucky stares, gaping. He’d recognize him anywhere; even with the long hair Steve wouldn’t be caught dead in, much less a fucking beard that Bucky didn’t know Steve could even grow in the first place. (And hell, if it doesn’t look good on him). Steve looks as gobsmacked as he does; they stare at each other like the world’s frozen over in that moment. Steve looks at him in this way that makes goosebumps prickle all over his skin; like he’s seen a ghost or something.

Bucky might as well’ve been rooted right to the barstool, ‘cause he can’t move a muscle as Steve carefully, slowly makes his way around the bar. Bucky can’t look away from the man standing before him; there’s something different about Steve. Something deadlier in the way he moves, like a blade finely honed, something confident in his body that his Steve doesn’t quite seem to be yet, and those eyes….

…There’s something older there; worn to exhaustion and something so sad that Bucky finds himself stumbling forward to grab at a hand as if Steve’s gonna slip away somehow if someone doesn’t keep him anchored.

“Yeah, pal, it’s me.” The words seem to echo in the bar. Bucky’s eyes search Steve’s face, while that sense of wrong skitters up his back. The animal part of him knows; It’s Steve, but it’s not his Steve, even as Bucky’s mind races to figure out what the hell happened, and how! “The hell’s going on? What happened to you?”

[brooklyn_boy]

Steve is spit and glue as it is when Bucky starts talking. He already knows deep in his soul that this is really, truly Bucky because he'd forgotten about that knife he pulled free. But there it is on the floor now. Real, just like Bucky is. But if that isn't enough to drive the fact home, the hand that grabs his own is.

His throat clogs with tears instantly as he feels rough skin against his own. The callouses that were healing too fast but that Steve didn't pay enough attention to back when he could. He knew the feeling of them so well. Sniper gun indents where, still as Bucky was, his hand couldn't help but shift against the rough metal and plastic. Steve wants to memorize them all over again. He wants to sketch them. Paint them. He wants to hold them in his own hand and never let them go again.

Is that possible? Steve doesn't know but it starts to become his next goal.

"I...I don't know..." It's the honest answer. The piece of metal from the shelf is in his pocket and Steve wants to show it to Bucky and explain but he also wants to never touch the damn thing ever again. If it explains how this man is here, now, who was to say it doesn't also have the power to send him home? And if that happens now, Steve is sure he will not survive it. He knows it deeper than he knows his own name.

Spit and glue.

"I don't know what happened... I was. I was just here. And then..."

Words are failing him. Steve shakes his head and just steps closer, his free hand pressing to Bucky's cheek and feeling the warm, living skin. His eyes lock on the other pair of blue and hold. Hold until the world goes blurry with the lack of blinking.

No. No, he realizes when he gives in and finally lets them close.

When he does, tears overflow down his cheeks. Steve inhales hard and steps back so he can scrub them away fast and recover what little he can. This could be a trap, after all. But if Thanos or anyone else yanked Bucky here from the past to distract him then they did a good fucking job.

'Distracted' was definitely not an inaccurate word to describe him currently.

"Jesus..." He sniffles hard and blinks back the residual tears. "Okay... Are you okay? Nevermind me, Buck. You're the one who... Who made a trip. Are you alright? Do you remember what might have happened?"

[frozenassets]

And here Bucky’d had a hard time when Steve showed up to rescue the 107th, and Bucky finally had a breather afterwards on the way back to take a good long look at what Rebirth had done to his best friend. Now it’s like looking like a stranger all over, only this one looks like he’s weathered a couple shellings, really seen some shit…. but it’s the piercing blue eyes that settle it. Steve looks older, somehow, and rougher, but it’s Steve

And Steve looks as lost as Bucky feels. Did the same thing happen to him? Bucky wonders, and he’d bet his entire month’s paycheck that (of course), HYDRA’s got something to fucking do with it. Bucky can only give Steve’s hand a tight squeeze when he hears the way the words come out thick past a lump in Steve’s throat, and feels his own throat close a little just to hear the way Steve can’t quite the words out.

A large hand curls against his cheek, warm and familiar with that ache of home; you’d never, ever let any of the guys see another soldier touch you like this, and sure as hell not your CO, and sure as hell not Captain Rogers. With a soft sound, the breath gusted in a caress against Steve’s skin, the corner of Bucky’s mouth grazes against the rise of Steve’s palm as Bucky finds himself pressing into the touch.

“I’m here. Not going anywhere without you, got it?” comes out as natural as breathing. Bucky’s heart just about breaks when Steve Rogers, strongest guy Bucky’s ever known in his entire life, cracks. In the dim light cast from outside, Bucky can see the telltale glimmer threatening Steve’s eyes and feel the tremor through his hand. God, Steve, what happened?

He reaches up and swipes gently at the tears rolling down Steve’s cheeks with his knuckle, but then Steve’s sucking in a sharp breath and stepping back. Like he’s gotta hide, face whatever this is alone. Bucky curls his hand around Steve’s shoulders instead, and guides him to one of the booths tucked away in a shadowy corner, and kneeling, sits Steve down; the guy looks a little his legs might buckle, and this way, Bucky can look up at him, fingers tangled.

“I’m not KIA yet, so I guess I’m cooking with gas,” Bucky says, aiming for light. Even when it's the last thing he's feeling when Steve looks practically broken, and Bucky doesn't know how to slug for it. "Last thing I remember is we just finished with a HYDRA lab and I came here.” He’s never telling a living soul - much less Steve - that he really was thinking of giving in to those warm smiles that the blond bartender had shot his way a couple times. “Had a drink, closed my eyes, and I was here. But you - what’s going on with you? With all this?”

He motions towards the whole package - the hair, the beard, the clothes that aren't exactly Army reg, even as he dries Steve's eyes with a swipe of his thumb. Bucky's voice softens. "Come on, talk to me."

[brooklyn_boy]

This is clearly time travel. Steve remembers the mission Bucky mentions but he sure as hell doesn't recall losing his friend in a bar for any amount of time. But then again, would he have really noticed? Back then there was so much to do and so many demands on his time. Steve hadn't lost Bucky yet and therefore hadn't learned that the world could be cruel enough to keep spinning with only one of them on it. He might not have kept close tabs. He might have just been confident in the fact he'd see him later.

He had taken Bucky's presence in his life for granted, back then.

Steve knows better, now.

And he knows better than to just mess with the timeline. Cosmic consequences and all, right? The chance of altering the past and making a new future? But really, he thinks to himself, is that such a bad idea? Is this future truly one that deserves to be protected? One where Bucky has been tortured out of his mind and the Earth's protectors are scattered around the world, torn apart?

What could really be worse than all of this? Death? At least that would be an end. What was the preciousness this present moment had that Steve needs to defend? Whatever it may be, he's too tired to find it. He's too tired to care.

Fuck it, he decides as Bucky's thumb dries his cheek. Fuck this future of grief and pain. Fuck all of it and the path of decisions that lead up to now. Steve doesn't care. He doesn't have it in him anymore to care.

Let this place burn.

"You... Buck, I think you got pulled forward in time," he somehow says. "I don't know how or why... But this is a long way from the bar you'd been drinking in. You've come a real long way, pal. And there's... There's so much more to it. But I just..."

He chokes out a sob and a laugh at the same time. The resulting sound is miserable and familiar to Steve at this point; it's been the only way he's been laughing for the last few months.

Steve reaches for Bucky's free hand and holds that one as well. When he looks down at the other man he can see the worry Bucky has for him. The care. Steve realizes then that he has in his grip home.

He'd forgotten such a place existed.

"I've missed you," he finally manages to say. It's three words that probably snap in pieces to a puzzle Bucky doesn't want to see about his fate. Steve can't stop himself though. The unvarnished truth is finally yanked out of his chest and he's bleeding free from the wound it left behind.

"God. Bucky... I've missed you so much."

[frozenassets]

The stunned look on Bucky’s says it all; out of everything Steve coulda said, this is the last thing he expected. Not like Bucky skipped a couple of hours, dozing off after a drink and the fact he’s been running on empty for weeks, but time travel, straight out of Astonishing Stories? Bucky’s mouth works like he’s scraping for something to say and coming up empty. Come on, pal, time travel? Really?

Bucky’s mouth closes with a snap when Steve’s shoulders heave on a sob and laugh mangled together, on a sound that’s so broken and tired that it puts to bed anything Bucky could say. How do you explain this place? Steve looking the way he does? That worn look to his best friend’s face?

Normally he’d be thrilled to find this sci-fi stuff was real. But Bucky’s heart starts to sink as Steve clutches his hands like he’s afraid he’ll get whisked off otherwise. Or….maybe like it’s been ages and some change since they last saw each other.

The color starts to drain from Bucky’s face. Steve doesn’t even need to say the rest. Not when he’s looking at him like this, not when it sounds like every inch of Steve’s missed him, and now when that’s all Steve has to say. Bucky had figured he probably wasn’t gonna make it out of the War; sometimes it didn’t matter how good a soldier you are, because sometimes shit happened and everything could go tits up out on the field.

Turns out he was right all along. Turns out a guy isn't ready to hear it either.

“God, Steve. Don’t - Don’t tell me how it happens. Just don’t,” Bucky says thickly, feeling a little like he’s left out to sea. A fine tremor starts to needle through his hands, while a chill sneaks its way through his veins; nothing worse than knowing you got a death sentence, unless it’s knowing how and when, and apparently, if Steve knows, there’s not a damn thing you could do to stop it.

At least…at least Steve makes it out. Bucky’s knees give a twinge, but it’s hard to care because Bucky’s reaching up for Steve too. He winds his arms along broad shoulders, and drags Steve down into a hug, burying his face into his throat and closing his eyes like it’ll blot out everything he just heard.

[brooklyn_boy]

If Bucky doesn't want to hear it, he won't say it. Part of Steve is desperate to just spill it all anyway, see if there is some change to the world around them. Maybe if Bucky never died, Steve wouldn't have crashed the plane. Maybe he would have married Peggy and they would have figured out HYDRA in SHIELD before. Or maybe he and Bucky would both have gone down with the plane and woken up here together. Maybe Steve would have navigated this world with his best friend, no longer so alone.

Or maybe nothing would have changed. Maybe Steve saying things now impacts nothing at all. Maybe destiny just has it out for him and there isn't a thing to do to stop it.

At the very least, he can honor Bucky's request. So he nods against the other's head and just holds him back.

Bucky smells like the war. He smells like gunpowder and fresh earth. He smells like cigarettes from ration packs. And underneath it all, he smells like himself. That strange combination of hair pomade and his natural musk that stuck to the sheets back in Brooklyn. Steve remembers lazy mornings when he was alone and he could roll into the other's pillow and just breathe him in. He liked the smell, he'd told himself. Now when he turns his head and inhales deep again, he says that to himself all over again.

It's not the whole reason but it's close enough for right now.

Steve slips from his seat during the hug and is on his knees too, just holding Bucky close. He wants so badly to never leave this moment. It's the closest he's been to happiness in years. Even pulling back an inch to look at his face again feels like taking a bullet in the side. But seeing this familiar face again so close? It almost makes it worth it.

"I'm sorry," he finally says. He has no idea what he's apologizing for but the list of things fueling his guilt is a mile long and he might as well just start blanketing apologies wherever he can. "I'm sorry, Buck. I won't... I won't say anything about... About anything. But... I'm just sorry. I shoulda done more. I wish I'd done more for everyone. But especially for you..."

[frozenassets]

When was the time he hugged Steve? Back after the rescue didn’t count when Bucky was half out of his mind, and afterwards, it’d been so weird hugging this bigger, taller Steve that something felt off about it back in the early days. And besides, a Sarge didn’t go hugging his Captain either. Especially not Captain America.

Now, with no one else here, Bucky lets himself sink into Steve when he slides down to join him on the floor. Thickly corded arms wind around him, and Bucky’s eyes scrunch closed like he’s gonna hide himself from his own future. From the fact that he’s guessing Steve was there to see every second of it and carry it the rest of his life. Bucky presses into Steve’s strong form, trying to push down the way his breathing wants to run frantic and his head feels a little like he’s tried breathing too high up.

It’s Steve’s scent that helps Bucky steady himself. Familiar but foreign at the same time; the woodsy charcoal smell Steve carried like the vine and willow charcoals he’d used crept into his skin, and then on it now, something with a tang of spice he’s never smelled before, tinged with a fabric scent that leans more towards the rubber that seems to follow the flyboys around.

Bucky pulls back, but only barely. They’re so close that their breath mingles, but Bucky’s heart twists at how Steve’s looking at him like he’s drinking up the sight of him while he can.

Seems like once Steve starts talking, he can’t stop. Bucky closes his eyes against the stinging threatening ‘em, sucks in a slow, deliberate breath like he’s trying to master himself before a shot, and opens them even when he’s still not ready to face any of this.

God. It feels like he’s a dead man walking already. Steve’s might as well be getting his last words out to a ghost.

“Don’t talk like that, Rogers. Shit happens, that’s just war. The reels didn’t show all that, and it’s not your fault,,” Bucky says shakily. He clasps Steve’s shoulders, giving them a squeeze and a shake. It’s not your fault! Blame the krauts for it, but it’s not your fault! “Do the others make it? What about my family?”

[brooklyn_boy]

Bucky doesn't know that is true. It feels good to hear it, but Steve knows that it's just words. Let him say how much all of this wasn't his fault when he's still trying to wash spilt blood off his hands. Let him comfort Steve after he sees the carnage other people used him for. Context is everything and Bucky has none. The words might as well be a nursery rhyme for all they can soothe the ache inside Steve.

At Bucky's other questions, guilt claws at his stomach. It's not the first time he's thought about the Barnes' and what became of them. Steve follows them from a distance as they live their lives under new names. Sisters married and having kids of their own. Bucky even has a great-grandniece as of last month, not that he's been able to know that.

Steve hasn't reached out to them once.

"The guys all make it," Steve answers finally. He sits back on his heels to put some space between them even though his hands can't let Bucky go. It practically has him tugging Bucky along.

"And your family... God, Buck. They did so good. You got a nephew they named James who's an honest to God rocket scientist. Niece named Stephanie after yours truly. Her kid just had a kid. Enough to make you feel old..."

He shakes his head a little, the smile on it worn but there.

"Everyone has a real good life. No scraping for food. No cold winter nights. Everybody after the war gets all the things we coulda dreamed of for them. You and I couldn't hope for more. 'Cept maybe JB Jr. going to the White House." A ghost of teasing washes out some of Steve's weariness.

"All those president names wasted twice..."

[frozenassets]

“Thank god you guys make it out. At least it’s- it’s worth it”, Bucky tells himself, even though it’s hard to buy the whole thing; look, those fellas are his brothers, and it looks like the Krauts don’t make it to US soil. But there’s also no helping that animal panic simmering under the surface as it threatens to rear its ugly head. How the hell can anybody manage knowing they already got a bullet or grenade’s with his name on it? That right now he’s maybe put it on hold, but how long does it last before he goes back?

Focus on my family. On Steve. It’s hard to feel the same rah-rah when Uncle Sam left you out in the cold, but if dying’s gonna save Steve and his family, it’s gotta be okay, right? Bucky’s trying to shove the fear from his eyes, and it looks like it’s an effort of brute force; Bucky’s jaw grits, and a stony look settles over his face like a guy knowing he’s going to a chopping block no matter what.

But the slight tremor in his hands as they clutch at Steve’s biceps still gives him away as they part, but only just.

“I got a nephew named after me. And Stephanie-,” Bucky looks wide-eyed, ‘cause of course. Becca’s always had a soft spot for Steve, so it figures, but to hear they all got to have a family. And a great grand-nephew! Bucky feels old before his time, and something sad and proud flickers across his face. “An honest-to-God rocket scientist!”

Bucky feels himself sinking to the floor, right on his ass, and looking anything but a proper Sarge of the good ol’ US of A as he takes this all in. His family hadn’t been scraping as bad as Steve and he had when they set out to make something of themselves, but to never have to go through the Great Crash.

“Shit, I’ll take it. Maybe it’s worth it, really worth it,” Bucky sounds hushed, because dread and happiness clash against each other so much that he’s not sure what to think. Bucky looks up at Steve, and only sees the kind of bone-deep exhaustion you saw in guys on the front too long. “Isn’t that why we shipped out in the first place? To stop the Nazis, give everyone else a future?”

Tell me I didn't die for no goddamn reason, is what Bucky's silently asking.

[brooklyn_boy]

Steve feels Bucky's real question instead of hearing it. He looks at his friend sitting on the floor and the need for there to be meaning in all of this hangs in the air like ozone before rain. Steve had the same question, once. It had been behind his teeth and on his tongue for the weeks following his defrosting, but never actually spoken. From there it had just grown. The question became a doubt and the doubt chipped away at something inside Steve that had been load-bearing.

Was it worth it? Was the war worth it? Was the peace we gained worth the lives lost? Was the sacrifice Bucky made and that he made important? Was the lives they gave up for some greater purpose?

Was the pain and the grief and all of this time spent for everyone else and never for himself for a goddamn reason? Or was all of it just wasted and lost?

Steve knows he needs to answer Bucky but the truth is more complicated than it should be and 'I don't know' is still an answer. It's the wrong answer, even if it's correct. Especially if it is correct. And Steve can't do that to his friend. The man is still recovering from what he must assume is confirmation of his death. How much more could Steve toss on him before he broke?

So he nods.

"Yeah. Yeah, that is why we shipped out," he says evenly. "And we definitely gave them a future where they could be happy and free. It's what I still fight for, now."

'Is it?', he wonders privately, that wall inside him taking another sharp hit. He pushes the thought away.

"You did so much good, Buck. You should be proud."

[frozenassets]

The silence isn’t that long between them… but Bucky feels every second of it like it’s several lifetimes. Here’s Steve, that guy who was so gung ho about jumping head first into the War that he’d have climbed over every single Joe just to get there first if he’d been strong enough. Hell, even when Steve got out there and saw war for himself, it didn’t seem to quite get to him. Just made him feel like he sure as hell did the right thing. Steve might as well’ve been America itself come to personally sock Hitler in the jaw.

Now even Steve’s struggling to answer. Bucky looks back up at him, the tiniest telltale hints of the toll the war’s taking on him on his face. The dark shadows sitting under his eyes, the exhaustion that seems to sit like a permanent squatter along the edges of Bucky’s face; he’s gone through so much that being so bone-deep beat seems second nature. Hardly remembers what it’s like to feel up and at’em.

At least Steve sounds like he sorta believes it. Mostly.

“At least it wasn’t a waste,” Bucky looks down at the mud crusted on his boots. His folks get a future, everyone else back home and in Europe gets a world without the Nazis overrunning it. He’s got the sudden urge to pick at a lace threatening to come loose, but instead digs his nails into his palm just to feel the blunt pain. “Everything we’re gonna go through.”

He doesn’t feel proud. He feels resigned. But at least if he’s gonna go, it won’t be for nothing.

Bucky casts around for something to say, turn it away from his coming death so the panic he’s mostly got down to a simmer doesn’t flare up. It almost doesn’t work. Instead, Bucky drags his hand across his face, and pulls himself up. Dragging a nearby chair over, he slumps down into it, and glances up at Steve. “So that’s it? You make your home here in London or something? Or just wanted to check out an old haunt?”

[brooklyn_boy]

Steve's whole body locks up at the question. For a moment he's unnaturally still like he can see himself caught in crosshairs but not yet able to see his way out.

The thing is that the both of them are operating without a script and without rules. Steve has no idea how long Bucky is here for nor what impact the visit is going to have. The cruelest option is the one Steve's shattered heart assumes the most likely: that he is being given a breath of air before once more being submerged. Much like waterboarding, this is the break needed so he stays alive and engaged. Part of the punishment more than a relief from it. Another way to test the soundness of his foundation by all but dropping a bomb onto it and salting the ground behind.

But that is not the only option.

Hope, cruel and insidious and part of his DNA much the way his asthma used to be, still whispers into his ear. It makes him wonder if this is not perhaps a gift. A chance at something better than the life he saw spinning out from one disaster to the next, endlessly and joylessly until the end. What if Bucky was here in this time and that was meant to be? What if he was meant to stay?

Steve has no way to know which of these is the truth or if the reality falls somewhere in between. But either way, there are practical concerns that are going to come up sooner rather than later and it is going to take some work to either excise the truth Bucky needs to understand them without giving away the plot or a great deal more of a conversation than Steve has the energy for now. He still hasn't moved, belying the complicated nature of what should have been a simple question. It's a conscious effort to slouch a bit and look toward the ground.

To stop his hands from shaking from bone-deep exhaustion and an even deeper need to touch.

"I'm...uh. I'm taking a break, actually," he says evenly. It's not a lie but only because it is omitting most of the important information. Specifically what he is taking a break from. "It's been a rough few months for me and I was lookin' for some familiar ground. This was the first that came to mind."

They can't stay here for too much longer, he also realizes as a distant clock tower strikes the early hour. Bucky hasn't turned into a pumpkin either so it's unlikely this is something connected to a specific timeframe. Perhaps. But he'll need to think about that later.

"We probably should... A hotel or something." He has a quinjet parked and hidden away which is probably safer. Going back to it though means that he needs to take it someplace else. He can't make that kind of decision right now. "I kinda broke in here, 's the thing. Last thing either of us needs is cops asking questions." Bucky because his answers would sound insane and Steve because he's wanted by 115 nations and a few of them aren't picky about what condition he's delivered in.

"Do ya think you can... You think you can walk out with me?"

[frozenassets]

Despite the light barely filtering through the far window, Bucky sees it immediately. Bucky only threw that question out there just so he doesn’t have to think about getting killed in the War - hell, he’ll talk about anything stupid just so he doesn’t have to really face it yet - but Steve goes still, so still you’d think he was afraid he’d been sighted in the field. After a moment, Steve sags a little and looks down at his hands hanging limp.

Bucky’s eyebrow raise: Steve, taking a break? The guy didn’t even take a break when he was ninety-something and some change, when a chill breeze could do him in.

“Must’ve been a rough couple of months.” Bucky says slowly, as if it’ll lead to Steve spilling…. though what if it’s what put that exhaustion on Steve’s face? Must’ve been hell if this is what got Steve needing a break, when he’d never needed one back during a full scale War. “Guess our digs are gone, huh?”

Bucky starts; a clock tower in the distance strikes, echoing like a reminder that there’s a world out there, and time hasn’t frozen like Bucky feels it has. Shaking himself a little, Bucky glances out past Steve’s shoulder towards the span of windows along the bar’s front, but he’s only greeted with a thick pea soup crowded up along the streets, and through it, the dim shadows of buildings and alleys that look like specters that had come with him from his time.

Steve’s right. They gotta get a move on it. Bucky gets to his feet and holds a hand out to Steve. “Yeah, I’m fine. Last thing I want is attention right now, and we’ll get company soon.”

The fog, it turns out, is a godsend, even when the English early chill sinks into his bones like it always has. At least that hasn’t changed, Bucky thinks; the cold seeps into a guy’s veins just like it did back on the front, so deep that you start to forget what it’s like to actually feel warm again. Bucky doesn’t bitch, not even once. He tugs his collar up and hunches his shoulders while they slip through the alleys and streets, while their breaths puff out in faint white clouds.

The area’s changed just enough that Bucky would’ve been lost if it wasn’t for Steve. And he sure as hell wouldn’t have noticed the abandoned apartment if it weren’t for Steve; suddenly they’re veering off, and down a couple turns, there’s a drawn up emergency ladder that isn’t enough to stop them both. The apartment sits near roof level, and only one of the windows has been broken; other than that, it looks like they’re not about to bust in on someone.

“So we hole up here for a bit, get our bearings.” Bucky says, rubbing at his arms. The place doesn’t look half bad, actually. “You think we’re gonna have a tail?”

[brooklyn_boy]

Steve's lived in a lot of places during his eventful life. It probably says something that this apartment they're breaking into with the cracked window and lack of electricity feels more like home than any of the others since he'd woken up. Or maybe that has more to say about the company than the place itself.

The first thing Steve does is sweep the place, quickly. It's got a thin layer of dust which is helpful; Nat had shown him how to use dust to assess whether or not the place has been disturbed. This one looks untouched for weeks and that is immediately a relief. Steve goes to any windows and pulls out a thin laser to assess sightlines. Both he and Bucky should be able to avoid being noticed with a reasonable amount of caution, he figures. So, all in all, the place is good. Great, even, when he tries the tap and finds clear water pumping through.

Steve splashes his face with it and pulls the bottom of his shirt to wipe it off. It is still a weird sensation to do that and find hair on his chin. That and Bucky's comment actually makes him smile.

"I doubt either of us get a tail unless your version of the serum had some fancy stuff I don't know about."

He grins, proud of the pun for a whole five seconds before he realizes what he said.

Fuck.

Steve knows he's a bad liar and if people who knew him for months could tell him that then Bucky might as well be reading his mind. Still, Steve coughs nervously and goes to recheck the locks on the door. His only hope at this point is distraction both from Bucky and for Bucky. The best way he can think of to do that is to just keep talking.

"I...uh. No, in seriousness. The people who are looking for me wouldn't be subtle if they had an idea where I was. So unless you getting yanked here came up on someone's radar and they're hunting for us, we should be good for awhile." He crosses from the door to the stove and the gas is also still on. Great. "Think we'd be lucky enough to find a tea kettle or coffee around this place?" Just keep talking.

[frozenassets]

The place is big; far more space than he or Steve ever had the greens for. It’s as if they took three or four of his shoebox apartment and jammed them together, and look, they even got two bathrooms! No doubling a bathtub as a table or having to share the john with the entire floor, this place is luxury even if it’s covered in dust. How the hell is no one here?

Maybe ‘cause no one can afford it these days either, Bucky thinks as he and Steve sweep the area. it’s gotta cost a fortune. They settle into it like they never left, spreading out silently like a couple of wolves on the hunt as natural as breathing. So far it doesn’t look like anyone’s been here for weeks, but it’s when Bucky turns and catches Steve waving some sorta thin, narrow device that sometimes flares a red as brilliant as a miniature flare.

It’s enough to snag Bucky's attention - every now and then Bucky sneaks a glimpse as if trying to figure what the hell that thing is. So far, whatever Steve’s doing with that thing, he doesn’t find anything they gotta be worried about. Bucky pulls the curtains closed anyway; the tatters just starting to form at the edges drift lazily along the faint morning breeze that ruffles through them.

Bucky joins Steve, where he leans against the doorway and watches the broad span of Steve’s back as he stoops for the sink. Bucky’s so distracted - god, he doesn’t think he’ll get used to an actual beard on Steve, but it also looks…well, it looks good on him - that it takes him a beat to realize what Steve said. When he does, Bucky stiffens.

“You…” Bucky trails off, because he didn’t want to admit to himself that maybe something more than getting roughed up had happened back at that factory. That maybe all those times out in the field weren’t just to adrenaline; it’s in those times Bucky didn’t quite feel the cold as quick as the other guys, or he could march longer than them, carrying more without stopping, or when he seemed to hone in on enemy so quickly it’s like his body knew he was there before his mind did. Where sometimes he could wear he can hear the thud of someone’s heart, or someone breathing even when he’s in his own sniper’s nest. Bucky’s voice sounds tight behind Steve. “You’ve known the entire time?”

If he did, when the hell was he gonna say something? (Bucky sure wasn’t ever gonna say it; it meant admitting something’s FUBARed with him if he even admitted it was (maybe) real)

Bucky follows Steve even after Steve tries to busy himself with the locks, like they weren’t already checked.

“You telling me you got guys worse than HYDRA after you or something? HYDRA wasn’t enough trouble?” Bucky lets himself sink down onto a couch starting to peel at the edges - and yet it’s far softer than anything back at camp. Might as well be a goddamn cloud. He eyes the cupboards hopefully “Hope so. Hell, I’d give my left arm for an actual cup of Joe.” But Steve’s also not quite off the hook, ‘cause Bucky adds. “So you knew something was off? That’s why you never said anything when I’d dodged the docs.”

[brooklyn_boy]

Steve has a full-body flinch at the casual comment about Bucky's arm. God, he has no idea. He has no idea what could be ahead of him and how loaded such a simple sentence can be. It's horrifying and perhaps a little funny in a cosmic sort of way. Certainly not enough to warrant the laughter that starts pouring out of Steve that's slightly hysterical with no sign of stopping.

He's just hit the end of his rope. The end of his patience. The end of his sanity, perhaps. And there's just no appropriate reaction to that sort of break in one's mind. Emotions all bubble up and it's a lottery wheel to decide which one gets the floor. Steve could have just as easily broken into sobs or punched a hole in the wall or thrown up in the sink.

Maybe it's a blessing he got laughing as the decided on behavior. Anything else would probably have terrified Bucky more than likely is right now.

It breaks off into giggles and hiccups as Steve finds not only mugs and some instant coffee but also a kettle that he can use to brew it all in. It's old-school but so is he. He takes his time, chuckling as he sets it up and leaves it going. The mugs get a rinse and then there's nothing else for it.

He turns around and looks at Bucky, miserable and still with a smile.

"I didn't know," he confesses. It sounds like a betrayal because Steve's mind has already jumped ahead to what that lack of knowledge caused. What he'd assumed because of it and what that did to Bucky.

'Give my left arm for an actual cup of Joe'.

The laughter dies and disgust wins on the next roll of the wheel. Steve feels like he's a second away from being sick.

"I maybe worried? I... I didn't know but you did things that were... I don't know. Amazing? Incredible. And maybe I had a thought now and again but I didn't know. I didn't find out until much, much later. I wish I hadknown.

"I wish I'd figured it out before everything went to shit."

[frozenassets]

Bucky’s head whips around; here he’d been eyeing the couch weathered at the edges, wondering if he can curl up on it tonight, or if he’s too tall…when Steve suddenly starts to laugh. And not a short chuckle or belly laugh, but the kind of laugh that bubbles up and tinged with something strange at the edges pricks at Bucky’s skin. Bucky stares as Steve laughs and laughs like that was a real gut-buster.

Look, sometimes Bucky can crack a good joke….but he’s not some chuckles-a-minute kinda guy and what he just said wasn’t exactly a barrel of laughs either. Sometimes it helps GIs to find something to bitch about to pass the time - or get through the day - and nothing’s an easier target than bad coffee and rations.

Bucky’s gaze slides down Steve’s back, then again up the back of his head, like he can figure him out as Steve fusses around the kitchen. It sounds a little like some of the poor bastards back on the front who’d…well, had enough. Reached the end of the rope, and couldn’t take a second more ‘cause if they weren’t already over the edge, they were one foot over the cliff’s edge. He just never figured he’d hear it from Steve; Steve laughs like he’ll go nuts if he doesn’t find something funny there.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice is soft. At last, Steve’s laugh dies down. “You good, pal?”

Steve throws himself into it; what better way to avoid your problems than by burying yourself in your work, even if it’s just getting some coffee in them. Bucky can only watch Steve putter around the kitchen like he used to back in New York, with an uneasy sense sitting heavy in his stomach. It’s like watching their lives in a funhouse mirror, only now they’re holed up and hiding .

When Steve does turn, the smile’s fooling nobody. There’s misery all over Steve’s face, so deep-seated there that Bucky’s heart aches. Bucky doesn’t hesitate. The leather creaks under him as Bucky rises and joins him; close enough to touch, if Steve needs another reminder, and not halfway across the room. The morbid part of Bucky thinks maybe Steve should enjoy it while he can; if Bucky’s KIA in the War, he’s bound to go back to his time one way or another.

“I didn’t know you noticed,” Bucky’s mouth presses in a thin line, and he looks away. God, he almost wants to ask how things go to shit... but at the same time, he doesn’t want to know. What if he gets taken out by a grenade? Or interrogated by HYDRA, and he doesn’t make it out? Bucky’s stomach clenches. Nah. Maybe he’s better off not knowing. “I was hoping no one figured it out. Always felt something was weird with me, but I didn’t want to be some lab freak. So I thought…maybe it was adrenaline. Or maybe I was a damn good shot, or just had some devil’s luck. I mean, I didn’t come out looking like all that.”

[brooklyn_boy]

Bucky moves toward him and Steve immediately thinks about how water recedes before a tsunami. Nature, like a punch, pulls back first. It coils before the strike. And that's how he feels, pressed against the counter as his friend reads the pain on his face and responds as he always does. Did. Does.

Fuck.

His hands reach out and rest on Bucky's waist as though magnets drew them there. He's not sure if he wants to use that grip to pull Bucky closer or maintain the space they have. Pushing him away is not an option he even considers for a second. He can't with how good it feels to have him here, warm and alive. Steve hadn't even realized he'd been cold until the heat of Bucky's skin bleeds through his shirt and against Steve's palms. Another thawing out to add to the list.

Steve rubs his thumbs in circles against Bucky's shirt and doesn't think about whatever boundaries that might cross.

"No one else noticed," he confirms even though the idea of continuing this conversation makes him want to just curl up in bed for the rest of the week. "And, yeah. You didn't come out looking all that different because you weren't 5'3'' and under a hundred pounds. But. Yeah. They..."

Steve pauses as he realizes the significance of it all. This is just the first time for Bucky. It was just the first time that HYDRA took his body away from him and did what they liked to it. Steve could remember him back then shrugging it off and moving on as though it hadn't mattered, but it had. He knew it had then and he knows it now too. And it was just the first time. Bucky has no idea that it will become the theme for the next few decades of his life.

The body in his hands suddenly feels precious with that understanding behind it. Unknowingly on borrowed time with its autonomy, Steve feels wrong even holding it still. His grip loosens but stays where it is. He's weak, it seems. Selfish. Even knowing better, he can't stop the need for contact. Bucky isn't the only one likely on borrowed time.

"You got a version of the serum," he continues. "Not the same one but the same effect. It doesn't... It won't hurt you any, if you're worried about that." Unless Bucky considers his living past the fall from the train a type of 'hurt'. It's debatable. "Just means you can keep up with me, still..."

[frozenassets]

Bucky’s breath catches and holds there when Steve’s hands find and settle on his waist; a strong touch curled there as easy and as thoughtless as blinking, it’s like Steve’s drawn just as much as Bucky’s drawn to Steve. Bucky’s hands spread along thick forearms, as if maybe to steady himself or remind himself it’s not all some dream. Steve runs hotter than Bucky does, even in whatever future this is.

“I don’t want anyone looking at me funny or turning me into some kinda lab rat. Again,” Bucky tacks on, distracted. “So at least I’m not gonna turn into Schmidt.”

Bucky trails off. It’s not the first time Steve’s touched him. Before Steve rolled in as Cap, neither of them were shy about it. A rough hug or shove or sprawled out on a hot afternoon on each other, too bored and hot to do anything else. But this might as well be the first time. This is something closer, something like you would a doll you were sweet on. A kind of careless touch at her shoulders or lower back. Bucky’s gaze slide downwards towards his fingers spread along Steve’s arms, feeling the play of muscle underneath, while his heart thuds a little faster as Steve traces circles against his shirt.

Bucky’s throat bobs, against the dangerous thrill that he’s always tried to stamp down twists downwards. Don’t ruin this, Barnes, Bucky thinks desperately. And then, almost like he can squash the guilt out; Besides, anyone’s gonna get funny after a dry spell. Not like there’s time for anything else but Rosie between missions

Bucky barely had interest in jerking one off these days anyway. Too beat, too anxious, too focused on what came next. But now…

He doesn’t make any move to step away or move Steve’s hands. Instead, he leans into the touch. Bucky, as if testing, slowly runs his hands along the length of Steve’s forearms even when Steve’s grip relaxes, but doesn’t let go; similar and different to the Steve back in his own time, this Steve feels rougher around the edges, more at home in his own body, but so tired and worn behind those baby blues that Bucky wants badly to hold him.

Bucky moistens his lips, grey eyes finding Steve’s. “So I keep you and the guys outta trouble better. Guess it’s good for something.”

[brooklyn_boy]

Bucky says he doesn't want to be a lab rat and Steve holds his breath as the lottery wheel spins once again. This time, however, there's another ball added to the rest. It slipped in the minute Bucky's hands touched his arms. Steve still feels static energy whenever he moves so much as a hair.

Bucky licks his lips and Steve is consumed by wondering what they feel like.

The truth is, of course, that this feeling isn't novel. It isn't the first time he's met Bucky's eyes and felt guilt over where his mind had gone. Steve thinks he'd always felt the draw in his lower stomach whenever Bucky smirked his way. He'd at least known well enough what it meant when he woke up in the morning and only got wood after knowing Bucky was the one curled close around him. It had been shameful and embarrassing and Steve had perhaps indulged in a moment or two more than he should have. But they'd never crossed the line. Steve had never taken that step. He might have been the sick one but he wouldn't bring Bucky down with him.

And then, Rebirth.

Steve can remember the first time he relaxed at camp and looked over at Bucky after Erskine. Those same butterflies rising up and making his heart flutter. It was then that Steve knew his feelings hadn't been a sickness. It hadn't been wrong. The serum hadn't cured him because there was nothing to cure. And he'd used that incredible knowledge to do fucking nothing.

But here Bucky is. And that ball spinning inside of Steve is painted red with all the furious desire that he's kept contained.

If it's the one that bubbles to the top, Steve is frankly worried about what he might do.

"You keep us safe," Steve says evenly. He bends his elbows, carefully drawing Bucky in. "You always keep us safe, Buck. God. I want so bad right now to do that for you."

The wheel stops and there is no decision. No laughter. No tears. No ripping Bucky's clothes off and tossing him to the floor. Steve has to make a choice, it seems.

It may be he already has.

Bucky is close enough that one of Steve's hands can wrap around his waist and press against the small of his back. It's a simple move that breaks any semblance of naive misunderstanding. Steve runs his fingertips slowly up and down Bucky's lower spine.

"I shoulda known better. I shoulda seen it. But you were always so incredible to me, Buck. I was used to thinking you hung the stars. Even when I became a super soldier, it only made sense for you to still be so...so fucking amazing."

[frozenassets]

The safe thing to do is slip from Steve’s hands. Keeps his own hands to himself. Maybe focus on getting supplies or getting some shut eye: Lord knows GI’s get as much sleep as they do proper coffee. Right now he’s not even sure he can remember how to do any of that. Not when Steve’s here, looking like something out of Bucky’s darkest dreams when his gaze drops and Bucky knows, just knows his friend’s gaze went to his lips.

Once Bucky’s breath catches, it’s like he doesn’t dare draw more than a shallow inhale through parted lips - like anything more’ll ruin the moment like chucking a rock into a lake. The air feels still, so still, when Steve draws Bucky closer, and Bucky? He goes with it, as if Steve’s finally learned how to actually take lead in a dance without crushing his partner’s feet and of course, Bucky will follow. He’s drawn up close, far closer than they ever had when Bucky did try to teach him how to dance.

Really, he’d only tried to save his future date’s feet. That’s all. Really. Bucky never taught him a slow-dance, up close and personal, and that’s almost what this feels like. Like they got a mind of his own, Bucky’s hands slip up along the swell of hard biceps to wind around broad shoulders as he looks up into blue eyes that drown out everything else in this FUBARed mess. Only an inch apart, they could be swaying to the slow, tinny thrum of a record player back home.

“Well, keeping you safe’s practically a full-time job. Serum’s evened the playing field some,” Relief flickers across Bucky’s face. At least something good came from what happened to him. Idly, his fingers comb absently with the strands of Steve’s hair at the nape of neck as if noting the difference from back home; even out in the front, Steve’d never let it grow even a shade too long.

Steve can’t keep him safe for what’s coming. And Bucky’s not gonna make it worse on insisting he can, so he doesn’t. Instead, Bucky’s mouth quirks into a bittersweet smile that flickers into something tinged with the shock of desire that lances through him at the press of Steve’s hand to his lower back. Bucky sucks in a sharp,startled gasp the next moment. Bucky sways on their feet a little, as if to press himself to close the gap, and his nails scrape dully along the nape of Steve’s neck next as Steve drags his fingertips in a tease up and down his spine.

This isn’t something everyday pals did. It’s not something Bucky can explain off later to himself, just as he can’t explain why he’s not stopping himself. Bucky always figured Steve had it bad for Peggy, and yet here they are; Bucky might have done the stupid thing and fooled around with the pretty bartender, but the real thing is so much better.

Bucky’s gaze drifts to Steve’s mouth, at the dark hair framing it, biting his own lower lip: would it feel soft, tinged with the coarse itch from the beard? How would Steve kiss these days?

“Me, some schmoe hanging the stars? Pal, you might as well hung the sun with the way I followed you around,” Bucky whispers, a thumb tracing slow circles along Steve's nape. “You’re one in a million, not me."

[brooklyn_boy]

Steve's eyes flutter shut as Bucky scratches his nails against his neck. As he plays with his hair. As he steps closer and whispers such sweet words in the air between them. It's incredible how natural this all feels considering it's uncharted territory for them both. Steve's wondered for years if he'd imagined the moments and looks he believed they'd shared. He'd wondered if it was wishful thinking to believe that Bucky wanted him like he'd wanted him. It was a question he was sure he'd never get the answer to.

But here it is. Steve watches Bucky's eyes drift to his lips and he can read the other's thoughts like they are neon signs. Or maybe it's just that they're having the same thoughts and that fact is so painfully obvious, no telepathy is even needed.

"I'm nothing..." His voice is small as he closes that last inch by pressing their foreheads together. "I've been a ghost without you, Buck. I...I need you. I always have. I always will..."

Steve's head cocks to the side and his nose bumps against Bucky's. He practically nuzzles in a millimeter at a time, hands shaking just a bit from restrained need, not fear. There's nothing to fear, here. For the first time in too long Steve feels secure. He inhales deep, cherishing it. The two of them are close enough that they are sharing air.

He can taste Bucky's last drink on his breath.

"I need you."

Steve's lips bump against Bucky's as he speaks and words are so inadequate. So meaningless now that he has Bucky's arms around his neck and his lips a hairsbreadth away.

"I..."

Who needs them?

Steve presses in, finally. He kisses Bucky harder than he means to, already starving for it from the start. His arms wrap tight around Bucky's waist and pull him flush. The heat at every point of contact is searing.

Steve hopes he has burns and scars from each one.

[frozenassets]

“Don’t talk like that,” Bucky’s voice says, unevenly harshly; when has Steve ever sounded this defeated? Even when the 1Fs rolled in, Steve never sounded so broken. Bucky’s hands frame the sides of Steve’s face as their foreheads touch, looking fiercely up at him like he can convince him that it’s not true. That if anyone, Bucky’s the one who’s not a damn thing without Steve there to light the way. “You’re the better fella out of the two of us, always have been, and if…”

Bucky trails off, because judging from the dawning shock on his face, finally, finally, gets it when Steve says he needs him. That maybe Bucky’s not the only one who might’ve had it bad: here Bucky had figured Steve was all in for the birds, just had bad luck, but they’re so, so close that Bucky’s nose flares and his eyes darken as he inhales Steve’s scent and his arms tighten around his neck as Steve’s nuzzles light as a butterfly’s caress against him.

It’s not the way a guy might look if he was just looking to scratch an itch and move on. Bucky’s heart flips. A sound squeezes out from his chest is low and shaky wanting; Steve wants him in a way Bucky only ever dreamed about. This has to be a fever dream. It’s gotta be. Thing is, Bucky wants it so badly, he’ll even take just a dream while he’s got a chance. Bucky’s face turns towards Steve softly, lashes lowered as he looks down at Steve’s mouth so close that his own lips just barely brush against it in a brush that sends hunger twining down his nerves. Bucky’s fingers splay over the nape of Steve’s neck, firm, holding him close.

“Steve, I -”

Bucky’s not even sure where he’s going with it, when the yearning is so tight and fierce in his chest that he can’t think straight when Steve’s this close, and when their lips tease against each other.

Steve’s the one to break, to leap into the fray like he always does.

Bucky gasps, a sharp, shocked sound muffled when Steve’s lips crash into his. It’s no soft kiss, easy or exploring. It’s bruising, hungry, and hard that Bucky’s toes curl in his boots as he groans thickly as arousal lances through him so fiercely that he jolts against Steve at the scratch of Steve’s beard and the soft touch of lips that’ve always looked a shade too generous for a guy.

Bucky’s arms tighten fiercely around Steve’s shoulders, as Bucky stumbles them back into the cabinet behind Steve just so he can savor the way they fit together like the missing pieces of a puzzle, and kisses him back like a drowning man finally offered water. His fingers slide through Steve’s hair, mussing up the back as he groans into the kiss with a muffled sound that might be a prayer and Steve’s name folded into one.