“Well...I mean, it’s been mission after mission. HYDRA doesn’t rest, so why should we?” Bucky doesn’t notice that he’s turning the glass in restless circles in his hands as he pretends like he’s scoping the place out… and definitely not avoiding Steve’s eyes. It’s pretty damn clear that they both aren’t buying what he’s selling here.
It’s not like Bucky knows what caused him and that other Steve’s times to crash together, or how he got back. But Bucky’s also not telling the story, and if there’s something he’s never been great at, it’s fibbing a big one to his best friend. Like passing out and not coming to for anything like a real Rumpelstiltskin nothing anyone should worry about it.
Still doesn’t mean Bucky’s not gonna cling to it anyway. Besides, it wasn’t like he died.
That’s still coming up, apparently, Bucky thinks, with a throat suddenly gone dry and takes a long sip even as Steve gets up and the mattress dips under his weight just like it did when the other Steve crouched onto the mattress before pushing Steve back. Bucky chokes a little on his drink, and covers it up by clearing his throat as he scoots a little so Steve’s got more space. But it’s the hand settling on his knee that almost gives Bucky up, because he can’t quite help that frozen second where his leg falls open just a little bit as if for Steve all over again.
Where things were familiar, comfortable, now Bucky can practically feel a shift between them. His thigh tenses under Steve’s squeeze, like a little shiver’s rolled through him, before Bucky knocks a shoulder into Steve’s.
“Sorry,” Bucky mutters. It’s not like he meant for any of this to happen. And the last thing he wants is for Steve to worry, and maybe trying to bring a smile is what digs Bucky’s grave a little deeper, because he has to open his big mouth without thinking; “Imagine if you couldn’t find any cute birds around. You’d have to do the honors.”
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2022-06-07 02:59 am (UTC)It’s not like Bucky knows what caused him and that other Steve’s times to crash together, or how he got back. But Bucky’s also not telling the story, and if there’s something he’s never been great at, it’s fibbing a big one to his best friend. Like passing out and not coming to for anything like a real Rumpelstiltskin nothing anyone should worry about it.
Still doesn’t mean Bucky’s not gonna cling to it anyway. Besides, it wasn’t like he died.
That’s still coming up, apparently, Bucky thinks, with a throat suddenly gone dry and takes a long sip even as Steve gets up and the mattress dips under his weight just like it did when the other Steve crouched onto the mattress before pushing Steve back. Bucky chokes a little on his drink, and covers it up by clearing his throat as he scoots a little so Steve’s got more space. But it’s the hand settling on his knee that almost gives Bucky up, because he can’t quite help that frozen second where his leg falls open just a little bit as if for Steve all over again.
Where things were familiar, comfortable, now Bucky can practically feel a shift between them. His thigh tenses under Steve’s squeeze, like a little shiver’s rolled through him, before Bucky knocks a shoulder into Steve’s.
“Sorry,” Bucky mutters. It’s not like he meant for any of this to happen. And the last thing he wants is for Steve to worry, and maybe trying to bring a smile is what digs Bucky’s grave a little deeper, because he has to open his big mouth without thinking; “Imagine if you couldn’t find any cute birds around. You’d have to do the honors.”