"Steve - "

The reaction is automatic - Bucky's hands come up, one wrapping around Steve's broad shoulders, the other burying careful fingertips in his hair. He is intimately familiar with this - the way Steve cries - and just as familiar with the fact that it doesn't happen often. It's making his own vision go hazy, but his voice is still steady, rock solid like the rest of him, because Steve might be built like a tank but that doesn't mean Bucky is just gonna let the world take its potshots at him. He never did, and he never will. Not when it feels like he's being handed a second chance at something he failed so utterly, so completely, the first time around. That's a mistake, a failing, he can never undo. But just because you can't undo something doesn't mean you give up. It doesn't mean you stop letting things matter, or stop making a difference.

It doesn't mean you don't cling just as tightly to the guy you lost, as he's clinging to you.

Bucky laughs a little, though it's a quiet, raw sound. "I mean, I guess it's good to know I pretty much did exactly what you would do. That's a sign-off from the boss if ever I got one."

His fingers keep scritching gently at Steve's scalp, letting him stay close even if he's absolutely not embarrassing himself.

Eventually, into the quiet, Bucky asks, "How long've you been here?"

It's okay if Steve's not ready to answer yet, or if he doesn't want to pull away to do it. Bucky's not exactly going anywhere.