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..."
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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..."