"Hey. Bucky. Hey, pal. C'mon...breathe." Steve is moving closer to him, one large hand on the back of his neck and the other pressed against his chest. Steve takes slow, deep breaths on his own to coax Bucky into duplicating him. Monkey see, monkey do, after all. And maybe later he can say that to his friend and get the punch that comparison richly deserves. But not yet. Not until this has passed because, Christ, it's not even the worst the news gets. If anything, this is the good part of the story: your friend lives!
Lives to be tortured for seventy years by HYDRA and made into an assassin. That was going to go over great.
"Breathe," he repeats, eyes focusing on Bucky and trying to see if he's going to need to hurl on the floor as well. "Look. That was my timeline. Even though it seems real similar, there's no guarantee that the same things happened both times. Like. We never looked for you, when you fell. I begged, but they never did. You searching means...maybe I did fall in the river. Maybe I hit a stone wrong. I could have died." Which normally wouldn't be said so hopefully. Life is weird sometimes.
He reaches up with the hand not on Bucky's neck and cups Bucky's cheek.
"You did everything you could. Everything. Hear it from me, alright? I wouldn't blame you. You went above and beyond for me. If I lived, it was by luck. None of this was your fault."
For a second, it sounds like Steve is talking to him from the end of a
very, very long tunnel - probably because Bucky isn't really
breathing, his world narrowing to that one thought, over and over: Steve
could have lived. Steve could have been alive, and they'd stopped
searching, left him for dead -
His body finally seems to register the big, warm hands on his skin; his
lungs inflate, and he doesn't feel a whole lot better, but some of the
color comes back to his face. He looks less like he's going to upchuck all
over Steve's very nice art studio floor.
His eyes finally get some life back in them, as they seek out Steve's,
watching him mutely for a moment. It is wrong, to hear Steve like
that - to hear him suggest ways he might have died. Bucky didn't
want Steve to be dead. With every passing hour, he'd wanted to be
proven wrong. He'd wanted to find not a corpse - and certainly not nothing
- but Steve, maybe a bit banged up, but miraculously, ridiculously,
alive and ribbing him for it.
Steve touches his cheek, and maybe that's when Bucky finally comes back,
fully, into the present. The weird-ass, wacky, fucked-up present and he
both wants to just... go away for a while, and never wants to lose, because
it's Steve, here and now, touching him, and -
He barks out something like a laugh, even if it's too derisive. Too
painful. "If you lived... it doesn't matter what I did. It wasn't enough."
Then his eyes focus a little more, and bore into Steve's, harder. "You
thought it was your fault when your guy - when I - fell. Didn't
you." It's almost less of a question, and more of an accusation.
"That's different," he says instantly even though it's so weirdly and profoundly not that Steve can almost taste his own bullshit as it spills out of his mouth. Not that it stops him. "I was Captain. I chose you to be on that train with me. And I chose you because...you were my friend and I liked fighting next to you. You were there because of me. And you fell because I wasn't fast enough."
And then he'd lived. Steve's, grip tightens around these things Bucky can't know yet. His blood boils and freezes with it in equal measure.
"We didn't even look for you. We just assumed. And then you were back and everything that happened to you was because of the choices I made. So yeah. Yeah, I blamed myself. But it was different."
Peggy had told Steve to allow Bucky his choice. But it had never felt like a choice. He and Bucky were just magnets and where one went the other was pulled. Where was the choice in that?
Steve exhales shakily and pushes their foreheads together.
"I know what you're feeling. But I swear, I don't--wouldn't-- blame you..."
Bucky snorts, because - "That's bullshit. Of course you chose me to be on
that train." Bucky had been there because of Steve... but that's been true
his whole life. He's always followed Steve, had his back - until the one
time he hadn't - and the truth is, "If you hadn't, I would've insisted." No
one else would've been right for that mission. It was why he stayed in the
fucking war, when he could've gone home. No one else was ever gonna watch
Steve's back half as well as Bucky could - until that one time he hadn't.
"Steve, if I didn't like fighting next to you... I don't know how you guys
became friends, but we wouldn't have, if that had ever been the case."
Bucky had met Steve in a back alley brawl as a snot-nosed kid, and
immediately wanted to stand beside him. That desire hasn't changed, not
once in his entire life.
Not even after Steve had died - hell. Maybe died. Probably not died.
Shit.
He shakes his head; this is crazy, it's crazy on both sides, hearing that
it was him and not Steve, it's almost a fucking relief. "Of course
you didn't look for me. I should've been dead, and it would've been a waste
of resources." Bucky takes a deep breath, holds it in for a long moment,
feeling the reality of Steve's skin against his, the hands holding
his arms - and he reaches up to grip Steve's arms, a mirror image, and lets
that breath out, slowly, shakily. "Well. Then I know what you're feeling.
And he doesn't blame you. I wouldn't. I don't."
He reaches up, one hand gripping the back of Steve's neck solidly, trying
to prove it. He knows Steve - he knows Steve isn't really gonna let that
stop him from feeling guilty. But maybe if Bucky repeats it enough. Maybe -
"You said he was here, too?"
Why the hell hasn't he beaten it through Steve's thick skull yet?
Steve hates how his whole body tenses at that question. He should have expected it, after all. And the truth can only be held back so long before Steve's silence on it becomes lying by omission. Besides, he's here. He's here and he's real and there's no telling when they will cross paths. It's not like Steve can even message him to warn him to stay away. He's not even sure if his Bucky would open a message from him.
It's that thought that has him leaning into this Bucky's hands, eyes shutting against this warm, familiar feeling. He has his friend. His friend is here and is talking to him. He can deal with everything else so much better just by not feeling so alone.
"Yeah. He's here."
Steve doesn't know where to start with the mess of what happened to the other James Buchanan. He bites the inside of his cheek, wishing there was a way to make this less awful. But there's just...not.
"Look. Just. Remember that this is my timeline. What I'm saying doesn't.... necessarily mean that it happened to your Steve." But he's sure that he wasted his breath saying that. Bucky's mind will go there. Of course it would.
"He just. Doesn't...really remember me. My Bucky." God, that hurts to say even now. "When he fell off the train, some HYDRA people found him. They messed with his mind and used him for missions. He's free of them, now. But... Yeah. Right now he still doesn't remember much about me." He laughs, humorlessly, trying to defuse the tension but being too affected to do it properly.
"Actually. If you wanna know who wins in a fight between you and me... I got stories, pal."
The way Steve's face just falls before he even opens his mouth to
say a word already has Bucky concerned. Steve's shit at hiding, things,
triply shit at hiding them from Bucky, and whatever he's gonna say... it
isn't gonna be good.
And the first thing out of his mouth - the disclaimer that things
might be different for his Steve? Yeah, not reassuring at all, buddy.
And then it just gets worse. Bucky blinks, trying to parse the words
Steve's speaking, trying to get the meaning from such simple phrases.
Doesn't remember him. HYDRA found him. Messed with his mind and used him
for missions. "What the fuck?" he whispers, almost like he doesn't actually
realize he's saying it out loud. He kind of doesn't. Because what. The
fuck. Fucking HYDRA. Of course.
The thought makes him go cold, like being frozen all over again. The
thought of going through it all again - the torture, the tests, only
worse, and neverending... Bucky's not like Steve. He has a healthy goddamn
fear of things that are terrifying. And that thought is fucking
terrifying.
And then his brain ticks over to the fact that... yeah. All of that might
have happened to Steve. His Steve. If he hadn't died, all of this could
have happened to him, and... wow, how about Bucky just never eats ever
again. That seems like a good solution, because otherwise how is he ever
supposed to keep anything down, knowing that. Knowing -
Steve's attempt a a laugh is maybe what snaps him out of it. Bucky's heard
that laugh before, and you are fooling exactly no one, Rogers. The light
comes back to his eyes, and he watches Steve carefully, before saying,
maybe predictably, "Please tell me it was you."
Steve laughs again in the same hollow way. It's not a 'yes'. It's pretty damn far from a yes, in fact. Just like his answer is going to be. "Depends," he says honestly, shaking his head. "I didn't lose. Losing would mean I'd be long dead. And I sort of won the second one after the helicopter hit the water."
Too much information, he thinks a bit late. Still, he shrugs and tries to cushion this blow with the only hope he'd stuck to for years, hunting Bucky down.
"The first time you almost killed me. Shot me once or twice," or three times, "but when I dropped my shield and stopped fighting? You could have finished it. And you didn't. You actually pulled me out of the water before I drowned. It...meant you were still in there. After everything. You were still in there."
His smile is honest now. Almost warm. He knows that all will be hard to hear but the end is what matters. The end that shows, even in the worst moment, Bucky was in there. Bucky was going to come back.
Bucky just ends up looking skeptically at Steve - not because he
disbelieves Steve, because ridiculous as all those words sound coming out
of his mouth, they're pretty much on par with what he's come to expect from
his - their - lives. But still, "I guess you did win," he has to concede,
because - well. He's still only got part of the story, but any HYDRA
operative - even himself - that didn't complete his mission had definitely
lost. They both know that.
Well, that, and, "Shit." Bucky blows out a breath, but a moment later his
lips do twitch up into this crazy, crazy smile, because, "I guess
so. I mean - if he'd meant to kill you, it wouldn't have taken two shots."
He's a fuckin' better sniper than that.
Still... it's all so much. So much, and that's even leaving anything
about his Steve out of it, which... God. God, he kind of has to right now,
because the second he really, truly lets himself sit down and think about
it... he's probably gonna end up in that bar, himself. At least his
serum lets him get pretty drunk, although - "You been at that bar a lot,
Rogers?" he asks, softly. "I thought you couldn't really get sauced."
This is more familiar and Steve ducks his head a little, guilty about being caught completely zozzled. "It's been a rough few weeks," he offers as an excuse. It's also the answer for how often he's been at that bar. Often enough that the bartenders all know his order and are procuring more since they're running low.
Hell of a few weeks.
"They have some alien liquor that is strong enough if I drink it fast. Doesn't last as long as I'd like but what else am I gonna spend my money on, here? Besides. I missed what it felt like to fall off a stool."
He's smiling genuinely now. Half the reason he's been drinking himself under the table is right here with him. Maybe now he'll only go once a week. Or twice. Christ, he still has the weight of Thanos over his head. The knowledge that Peggy was here with him and he has no memory of any of it.
Just like he won't remember this Bucky if he leaves.
Steve pushes it away and focuses back on the moment. The one with Bucky here and in front of him. The Bucky he lost all those years ago on a train. Vision had said that fleeting beauty was better than none at all. Steve can understand that, now.
Bucky snorts softly, but it's more in agreement and understanding than
anything. "I bet." Steve's answer is definitely answer enough to tell him
what he needs to know. He does have to laugh a little, leaning in to bump
shoulders with Steve (God, that feels so good, he could cry) when he
mentions missing falling off a stool. "You've got farther to fall now, pal.
Maybe you should keep that in mind."
But with that said, "Yeah," he breathes, smiling a little, and gratefully.
"Yeah, I think that'd be a good idea. Next time you're itchin' to go."
Getting drunk alone is six times as depressing - Bucky knows - and
honestly, getting drunk with Steve kind of sounds like the best possible
outcome. Like old times. Even if absolutely nothing is like old times, and
never will be again.
And speaking of, "You think this place can handle two Captain Americas?' It
feels blasphemous, even hinting that he could still be that guy, especially
with Steve standing right here. Steve is Cap, he made Cap who he is, and
all Bucky can do is try to follow in his footsteps. That's all he's ever
tried to do - to be a man half as good as Steve. To be the Cap that Steve
might have been.
But he knows Steve has probably never wanted to pick up a rifle instead of
the shield.
Steve looks at Bucky like he hung the moon. He's proud. So obviously and ferociously proud of his friend that it's clear he would have slapped a medal on his chest, were one available. How could he not be? Steve fell off a train and died and Bucky picked himself up and took the shield. Carried on the Captain America legacy for the nation. For him. It's the best gift he could have been given.
"Yeah. You know what? I think they can. But I'm gonna have to get used to not outranking you." He nudges back feeling that same rush of intoxicating nostalgia. He's hanging on by his nails and that probably means Bucky is too. As though it matters. As though they needed to be strong with each other. He grips his arms, holding on tight.
"If I order you to stick around here for the night, will you do it anyway?" There's a softness to the request. An honest yearning. "Call me a moron, but I'm still half afraid this is a dream. And if it is, I want to make sure I spend enough time enjoying it."
Bucky's almost, honestly, taken aback by the look in Steve's eyes. He knows
he's done the job differently than Steve would have, even trying to be the
man he knows Steve was - is, because he's standing right here in
front of him, and he might not even be dead back home. Shit. Shit.
It's almost a relief when Steve cracks a joke, nudges him back, and Bucky's
maybe about to make some smartass remark about how Steve never should've
outranked him in the first place, but then Steve's voice and his face get
soft, and he asks that question, and - "Shit, Steve," he says, just as
softly. When was the last fucking time Steve enjoyed anything - or admitted
to it? Probably the last time Bucky had, and that was way, way too long
ago. "You don't have to order me to do anything. If you think I'm leaving
you alone in here... just don't. I'm not gonna." He lets out a breath.
"It's not exactly a hardship. I've been sharing space with you pretty much
my whole life."
Just in case that might have been different, somehow. But he doesn't think
it was - not given the way Steve's looking at him. "If I'm stuck here... at
least I'm stuck here with you." He might be all too aware of the fact that
he's going to - probably - end up going home someday, leaving Steve behind,
going back to what he had, and what he didn't have. But suddenly, being
kidnapped is maybe not the worst thing that's happened to Bucky in his
life. (Okay, given everything else, it was maybe number five on the top ten
list anyway, but still.) "Are we staying here?"
Steve relaxes visibly. He smiles, shaking his head and patting Bucky hard on the shoulder so he doesn't start bursting into tears and hugging him all over again. "I have some cushions. For the chairs. We can put them on the floor like we were kids." He could take Bucky back to his room on the Bishop but it's so small. And a selfish, selfish part of him doesn't want to share this. Not yet. He just wants Bucky to himself.
He pulls away, getting the supplies and spreading them out for the night. "In the morning...we'll figure everything out. Introduce you around and everything. In the morning." Not yet. For now, it's just them. Just them and a small, interstellar art studio provided by their benevolent kidnappers.
Christ. Life here just got impossibly more complicated.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
brooklyn_boy) wrote2019-01-30 05:17 pm
no subject
Lives to be tortured for seventy years by HYDRA and made into an assassin. That was going to go over great.
"Breathe," he repeats, eyes focusing on Bucky and trying to see if he's going to need to hurl on the floor as well. "Look. That was my timeline. Even though it seems real similar, there's no guarantee that the same things happened both times. Like. We never looked for you, when you fell. I begged, but they never did. You searching means...maybe I did fall in the river. Maybe I hit a stone wrong. I could have died." Which normally wouldn't be said so hopefully. Life is weird sometimes.
He reaches up with the hand not on Bucky's neck and cups Bucky's cheek.
"You did everything you could. Everything. Hear it from me, alright? I wouldn't blame you. You went above and beyond for me. If I lived, it was by luck. None of this was your fault."
no subject
For a second, it sounds like Steve is talking to him from the end of a very, very long tunnel - probably because Bucky isn't really breathing, his world narrowing to that one thought, over and over: Steve could have lived. Steve could have been alive, and they'd stopped searching, left him for dead -
His body finally seems to register the big, warm hands on his skin; his lungs inflate, and he doesn't feel a whole lot better, but some of the color comes back to his face. He looks less like he's going to upchuck all over Steve's very nice art studio floor.
His eyes finally get some life back in them, as they seek out Steve's, watching him mutely for a moment. It is wrong, to hear Steve like that - to hear him suggest ways he might have died. Bucky didn't want Steve to be dead. With every passing hour, he'd wanted to be proven wrong. He'd wanted to find not a corpse - and certainly not nothing - but Steve, maybe a bit banged up, but miraculously, ridiculously, alive and ribbing him for it.
Steve touches his cheek, and maybe that's when Bucky finally comes back, fully, into the present. The weird-ass, wacky, fucked-up present and he both wants to just... go away for a while, and never wants to lose, because it's Steve, here and now, touching him, and -
He barks out something like a laugh, even if it's too derisive. Too painful. "If you lived... it doesn't matter what I did. It wasn't enough."
Then his eyes focus a little more, and bore into Steve's, harder. "You thought it was your fault when your guy - when I - fell. Didn't you." It's almost less of a question, and more of an accusation.
no subject
And then he'd lived. Steve's, grip tightens around these things Bucky can't know yet. His blood boils and freezes with it in equal measure.
"We didn't even look for you. We just assumed. And then you were back and everything that happened to you was because of the choices I made. So yeah. Yeah, I blamed myself. But it was different."
Peggy had told Steve to allow Bucky his choice. But it had never felt like a choice. He and Bucky were just magnets and where one went the other was pulled. Where was the choice in that?
Steve exhales shakily and pushes their foreheads together.
"I know what you're feeling. But I swear, I don't--wouldn't-- blame you..."
no subject
Bucky snorts, because - "That's bullshit. Of course you chose me to be on that train." Bucky had been there because of Steve... but that's been true his whole life. He's always followed Steve, had his back - until the one time he hadn't - and the truth is, "If you hadn't, I would've insisted." No one else would've been right for that mission. It was why he stayed in the fucking war, when he could've gone home. No one else was ever gonna watch Steve's back half as well as Bucky could - until that one time he hadn't. "Steve, if I didn't like fighting next to you... I don't know how you guys became friends, but we wouldn't have, if that had ever been the case." Bucky had met Steve in a back alley brawl as a snot-nosed kid, and immediately wanted to stand beside him. That desire hasn't changed, not once in his entire life.
Not even after Steve had died - hell. Maybe died. Probably not died. Shit.
He shakes his head; this is crazy, it's crazy on both sides, hearing that it was him and not Steve, it's almost a fucking relief. "Of course you didn't look for me. I should've been dead, and it would've been a waste of resources." Bucky takes a deep breath, holds it in for a long moment, feeling the reality of Steve's skin against his, the hands holding his arms - and he reaches up to grip Steve's arms, a mirror image, and lets that breath out, slowly, shakily. "Well. Then I know what you're feeling. And he doesn't blame you. I wouldn't. I don't."
He reaches up, one hand gripping the back of Steve's neck solidly, trying to prove it. He knows Steve - he knows Steve isn't really gonna let that stop him from feeling guilty. But maybe if Bucky repeats it enough. Maybe - "You said he was here, too?"
Why the hell hasn't he beaten it through Steve's thick skull yet?
no subject
It's that thought that has him leaning into this Bucky's hands, eyes shutting against this warm, familiar feeling. He has his friend. His friend is here and is talking to him. He can deal with everything else so much better just by not feeling so alone.
"Yeah. He's here."
Steve doesn't know where to start with the mess of what happened to the other James Buchanan. He bites the inside of his cheek, wishing there was a way to make this less awful. But there's just...not.
"Look. Just. Remember that this is my timeline. What I'm saying doesn't.... necessarily mean that it happened to your Steve." But he's sure that he wasted his breath saying that. Bucky's mind will go there. Of course it would.
"He just. Doesn't...really remember me. My Bucky." God, that hurts to say even now. "When he fell off the train, some HYDRA people found him. They messed with his mind and used him for missions. He's free of them, now. But... Yeah. Right now he still doesn't remember much about me." He laughs, humorlessly, trying to defuse the tension but being too affected to do it properly.
"Actually. If you wanna know who wins in a fight between you and me... I got stories, pal."
no subject
The way Steve's face just falls before he even opens his mouth to say a word already has Bucky concerned. Steve's shit at hiding, things, triply shit at hiding them from Bucky, and whatever he's gonna say... it isn't gonna be good.
And the first thing out of his mouth - the disclaimer that things might be different for his Steve? Yeah, not reassuring at all, buddy.
And then it just gets worse. Bucky blinks, trying to parse the words Steve's speaking, trying to get the meaning from such simple phrases. Doesn't remember him. HYDRA found him. Messed with his mind and used him for missions. "What the fuck?" he whispers, almost like he doesn't actually realize he's saying it out loud. He kind of doesn't. Because what. The fuck. Fucking HYDRA. Of course.
The thought makes him go cold, like being frozen all over again. The thought of going through it all again - the torture, the tests, only worse, and neverending... Bucky's not like Steve. He has a healthy goddamn fear of things that are terrifying. And that thought is fucking terrifying.
And then his brain ticks over to the fact that... yeah. All of that might have happened to Steve. His Steve. If he hadn't died, all of this could have happened to him, and... wow, how about Bucky just never eats ever again. That seems like a good solution, because otherwise how is he ever supposed to keep anything down, knowing that. Knowing -
Steve's attempt a a laugh is maybe what snaps him out of it. Bucky's heard that laugh before, and you are fooling exactly no one, Rogers. The light comes back to his eyes, and he watches Steve carefully, before saying, maybe predictably, "Please tell me it was you."
no subject
Too much information, he thinks a bit late. Still, he shrugs and tries to cushion this blow with the only hope he'd stuck to for years, hunting Bucky down.
"The first time you almost killed me. Shot me once or twice," or three times, "but when I dropped my shield and stopped fighting? You could have finished it. And you didn't. You actually pulled me out of the water before I drowned. It...meant you were still in there. After everything. You were still in there."
His smile is honest now. Almost warm. He knows that all will be hard to hear but the end is what matters. The end that shows, even in the worst moment, Bucky was in there. Bucky was going to come back.
no subject
Bucky just ends up looking skeptically at Steve - not because he disbelieves Steve, because ridiculous as all those words sound coming out of his mouth, they're pretty much on par with what he's come to expect from his - their - lives. But still, "I guess you did win," he has to concede, because - well. He's still only got part of the story, but any HYDRA operative - even himself - that didn't complete his mission had definitely lost. They both know that.
Well, that, and, "Shit." Bucky blows out a breath, but a moment later his lips do twitch up into this crazy, crazy smile, because, "I guess so. I mean - if he'd meant to kill you, it wouldn't have taken two shots." He's a fuckin' better sniper than that.
Still... it's all so much. So much, and that's even leaving anything about his Steve out of it, which... God. God, he kind of has to right now, because the second he really, truly lets himself sit down and think about it... he's probably gonna end up in that bar, himself. At least his serum lets him get pretty drunk, although - "You been at that bar a lot, Rogers?" he asks, softly. "I thought you couldn't really get sauced."
no subject
Hell of a few weeks.
"They have some alien liquor that is strong enough if I drink it fast. Doesn't last as long as I'd like but what else am I gonna spend my money on, here? Besides. I missed what it felt like to fall off a stool."
He's smiling genuinely now. Half the reason he's been drinking himself under the table is right here with him. Maybe now he'll only go once a week. Or twice. Christ, he still has the weight of Thanos over his head. The knowledge that Peggy was here with him and he has no memory of any of it.
Just like he won't remember this Bucky if he leaves.
Steve pushes it away and focuses back on the moment. The one with Bucky here and in front of him. The Bucky he lost all those years ago on a train. Vision had said that fleeting beauty was better than none at all. Steve can understand that, now.
"We can go there together. I'll show it to you?"
no subject
Bucky snorts softly, but it's more in agreement and understanding than anything. "I bet." Steve's answer is definitely answer enough to tell him what he needs to know. He does have to laugh a little, leaning in to bump shoulders with Steve (God, that feels so good, he could cry) when he mentions missing falling off a stool. "You've got farther to fall now, pal. Maybe you should keep that in mind."
But with that said, "Yeah," he breathes, smiling a little, and gratefully. "Yeah, I think that'd be a good idea. Next time you're itchin' to go." Getting drunk alone is six times as depressing - Bucky knows - and honestly, getting drunk with Steve kind of sounds like the best possible outcome. Like old times. Even if absolutely nothing is like old times, and never will be again.
And speaking of, "You think this place can handle two Captain Americas?' It feels blasphemous, even hinting that he could still be that guy, especially with Steve standing right here. Steve is Cap, he made Cap who he is, and all Bucky can do is try to follow in his footsteps. That's all he's ever tried to do - to be a man half as good as Steve. To be the Cap that Steve might have been.
But he knows Steve has probably never wanted to pick up a rifle instead of the shield.
no subject
Steve looks at Bucky like he hung the moon. He's proud. So obviously and ferociously proud of his friend that it's clear he would have slapped a medal on his chest, were one available. How could he not be? Steve fell off a train and died and Bucky picked himself up and took the shield. Carried on the Captain America legacy for the nation. For him. It's the best gift he could have been given.
"Yeah. You know what? I think they can. But I'm gonna have to get used to not outranking you." He nudges back feeling that same rush of intoxicating nostalgia. He's hanging on by his nails and that probably means Bucky is too. As though it matters. As though they needed to be strong with each other. He grips his arms, holding on tight.
"If I order you to stick around here for the night, will you do it anyway?" There's a softness to the request. An honest yearning. "Call me a moron, but I'm still half afraid this is a dream. And if it is, I want to make sure I spend enough time enjoying it."
no subject
Bucky's almost, honestly, taken aback by the look in Steve's eyes. He knows he's done the job differently than Steve would have, even trying to be the man he knows Steve was - is, because he's standing right here in front of him, and he might not even be dead back home. Shit. Shit.
It's almost a relief when Steve cracks a joke, nudges him back, and Bucky's maybe about to make some smartass remark about how Steve never should've outranked him in the first place, but then Steve's voice and his face get soft, and he asks that question, and - "Shit, Steve," he says, just as softly. When was the last fucking time Steve enjoyed anything - or admitted to it? Probably the last time Bucky had, and that was way, way too long ago. "You don't have to order me to do anything. If you think I'm leaving you alone in here... just don't. I'm not gonna." He lets out a breath. "It's not exactly a hardship. I've been sharing space with you pretty much my whole life."
Just in case that might have been different, somehow. But he doesn't think it was - not given the way Steve's looking at him. "If I'm stuck here... at least I'm stuck here with you." He might be all too aware of the fact that he's going to - probably - end up going home someday, leaving Steve behind, going back to what he had, and what he didn't have. But suddenly, being kidnapped is maybe not the worst thing that's happened to Bucky in his life. (Okay, given everything else, it was maybe number five on the top ten list anyway, but still.) "Are we staying here?"
Thread Wrap <3
He pulls away, getting the supplies and spreading them out for the night. "In the morning...we'll figure everything out. Introduce you around and everything. In the morning." Not yet. For now, it's just them. Just them and a small, interstellar art studio provided by their benevolent kidnappers.
Christ. Life here just got impossibly more complicated.