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“Thanks for your calls, guys.” Steve smiles into the camera, starting his signature sign-off. “We can all get through the dark nights together.”
The camera guy, Clint Barton, gives him a thumbs-up and the light switches off. Steve stands up and stretches before starting to move the desk off the stage. “Great show,” Steve hears from behind him. He swings around to see Peggy Carter, the host of the show after his. Steve's cable-access show is about living with trauma, an area he's pretty qualified to talk about considering his military background, and Peggy's is a self-defense program that plays in the early mornings. Her co-host, Natasha, isn't there yet, and Clint's wandered off somewhere, so it's just the two of them. Steve grins at her, hoping he looks confident and glad he's wearing the blue sweater he knows brings out his eyes.
“Thanks,” he says, pushing the desk to the side of the stage so she can spread out her mats.
“You never tire of showing off your nice, new muscles, do you?” She teases, and Steve feels a blush spread across his face. He'd first met Peggy in high school, when she came as an exchange student from England, before his growth spurt and before he'd grown out of his asthma and got contacts. He'd had a crush on her for their whole freshman year but had been terrified to ask her out, so his best friend Bucky had done it for him. They'd gone out on exactly one date, which had ended with Steve getting in a fight with another movie theater patron and Peggy stepping in to help. Then the school year ended and Peggy went back to England. They'd tried to keep in touch for a while, but everything got so complicated when Steve and Bucky graduated and joined the Army and got sent overseas. He hadn't forgotten Peggy, exactly, but seeing her one day at the cable station all grown up had been quite a shock.
“It's just nice to be the one doing the moving,” Steve admits with a shrug. “I don't have to get Bucky to do it for me.” His face falls a little at the words. Bucky can't do it for him. Bucky can't back him up in a fight or tease him into laughing or throw an arm around his neck playfully. Bucky's been gone for over a year, missing in action and presumed dead, and Steve hadn't been able to go look for him because he'd been in a coma for almost a month after their plane went down, minutes after the wing had been torn off and Bucky had been ripped from the plane. Steve had welcomed the plane crash, really, after seeing that, and waking up to realize he was alive but Bucky still wasn't had felt far more surreal than finding out he'd been in a coma so long.
Peggy puts her hand, so small compared to what he's used to, on his forearm. “It's okay to still miss him, you know.” Steve smiles and nods.
“Now you sound like Sam,” he accuses teasingly.
“Well, that's a high compliment. And I'll keep that similarity up by telling you to go home and get some sleep.” She winks at him.
Steve laughs a little. “Definitely something Sam would say.” He smiles at her for another minute before giving himself a little shake. “Okay, I'll get out of your hair. Have a good show.”
“Goodnight, Steve,” she says, even though it's now 5 am.
He runs into Natasha on his way out. He and Natasha are friends, he thinks, because they've been working together at the station for a while. Before she and Peggy joined forces for their self-defense show, Natasha taught Russian. It wasn't a very popular program, because she'd taught everything in a flat tone, looking scornful and terrifying, and then the station manager, Tony Stark, had realized she was teaching phrases about dismembering people. He had, of course, joked (while being semi-serious) about how it was hot but sadly inappropriate for cable access, so Peggy had shown up with the self-defense idea at the perfect time.
“Hey, Rogers,” Natasha greets him. She'd been in the military, too, though it was Russia's military and she never talks about it so Steve figures it must've been something awful. “You ask out Alicia yet? The sound mixer?”
“Uh...” Steve makes a face. Now that she mentions it, he vaguely remembers agreeing to ask this girl out. He blames sleep-deprivation.
“She's so into you!” Natasha insists. “She's a very nice, wholesome girl. Perfect for you, Mr. Apple Pie Captain America.”
“I don't really know what that means,” Steve laughs. “I just think I might, uh...” He licks his lips and sends a half-look backward toward Peggy. Natasha's eyes light up.
“Really?” She asks. Steve shrugs awkwardly.
“That's perfect,” Natasha assures him. “She'll definitely say yes. She told me you guys were high school sweethearts.”
“Oh, we weren't—I mean, sweethearts sounds pretty serious—” He's flustered and Natasha laughs at him again.
“Go get some sleep,” she orders. “And I promise I will not tease you about Peggy.”
“Really?” Steve asks skeptically. Natasha smirks at him.
“Okay, you caught me. That's not a promise I can make.”
Steve shakes his head and heads out to his car. He goes back to his apartment—dark, empty—and eats a protein bar—chalky, gross—before slipping into bed for a little nap—short, interrupted. His show runs from two am to five am, so he gets some sleep before he goes, and he never sleeps much anyway. If it isn't nightmares about IEDs and gunfire, it's Bucky's terrified face as he falls or the ground rushing up to meet Steve's field of vision.
He manages to sleep for two hours before he gives up and goes for a run, meeting Sam at the National Mall. Sam shakes his head, the way he does every morning when Steve shows up.
“Man, you should be sleeping,” Sam scolds, but it's halfhearted. He knows Steve gets at least six hours, usually, and Steve functions fine on that amount. As a fellow vet, he also understands the nightmare situation.
They run and Steve ribs Sam about being slow. Steve and Sam met at just about the most perfect time ever. Steve had been back for a few weeks, but he'd felt like he was drowning. Everything was so strange without Bucky, like the world had just gone on without Steve while he was waiting for Bucky to show up again. He'd met Sam while out running, and Sam had coaxed him into going to VA meetings so Steve could work through his trauma. Steve got the show thanks to Sam, and Sam sent him articles and books to consult.
“You have a rough call last night?” Sam asks after they've finished running and are catching their breath. Steve makes a face. “I can tell something's off, man. Just tell me so I don't have to fish around.”
Steve stares at his water bottle. “I'm thinking of asking Peggy out.”
“Well I sure hope you can muster up some more excitement when you're in front of her.”
“I...” Steve bites his lip. He's never told anyone this. “Um, so remember how Bucky was my best friend?” Sam stares at him for a long moment. Sam's smart enough that Steve probably doesn't need to elaborate, but he's also probably going to make Steve say it. “Bucky was my...” Steve blows out a breath. “Well, he was my best friend.”
“He was your lover,” Sam guesses. Steve makes a little face because that word is weird. “He was your sweetheart. Your boy-toy.”
“Okay.” Steve rolls his eyes. What's everyone's weird fascination with the word sweetheart? Do they live in 1930?
“Your love bunny. Cuddlebug.”
“I'm going home now.”
“Hang on, hang on.” Sam's laughing and Steve can't help but join in, too, because it feels kind of good to get it off his chest and to have Sam joking with him. “Seriously, though, this is good. This is a good step. You're moving on.”
That makes Steve's face fall. “I feel guilty.”
“I know. I get it. But it's healthy. Would he want you to hang on forever and pine after him? I've heard a lot about him from you and I highly doubt he would.”
“No, you're right. He'd tell me to quit moping and try to have a life.” Steve laughs quietly. “And then he'd tease me and say I've never had a life in the first place.” He has tears in his eyes and he looks away from Sam. He knows he has no reason to hide his tears, from Sam least of all, but he can't help it. Bucky's the only person besides Steve's mother who's ever seen him cry, and he may be ready to take Peggy on a date but that doesn't mean he's ready to expand that list. Sam claps him on the back and doesn't push it. They talk about other things for a little while, and then they break apart so Sam can go to work and Steve can putter around and maybe draw something. He's not exactly rich, but the meager salary he makes from the station is enough thanks to some disability benefits he still gets from the Army and how well his art sells on the internet.
Steve lives alone, and his apartment is always empty. He doesn't know how to live alone. He always had his mom, and then he had Bucky, and then he had a whole barracks. Even while he was recovering after waking up from his coma, there were two other guys in the room he was in. Now he keeps a constant stream of music or podcasts going when he's home because he can't take the silence.
He asks Peggy out the next time he sees her, and she says yes, just as Natasha predicted. They go dancing, because back in high school he'd wanted to ask her to prom but had gotten pneumonia and didn't get to go. They have fun, and Steve smiles and laughs and feels butterflies in the seconds she's leaning in to kiss him. They keep going on dates, Steve keeps running with Sam, and life seems to go on, like it did before. But he still sometimes turns to his left to say something to Bucky or buys chocolate ice cream even though he likes strawberry. The ache in his chest never goes away.
“Okay, let's take another call,” Steve says. He usually talks about coping strategies and the like and then takes two or three calls. He's done one so far and the light hasn't blinked since, but it just lit up. “Hi, you're on the air with Steve Rogers.”
There's silence on the other end of the line. “Hello?” Steve asks. Great, someone called on accident. “Did you want to talk about a trauma?”
“Um...” The man on the line clears his throat. “I, uh, I don't know what to say.”
Steve's heart stops beating. That's Bucky's voice. “Bucky?” He breathes.
“What?” The guys asks, obvious confusion in his voice, and Steve's stomach clenches. “Who the hell is Bucky?”
“I—” Steve takes a deep breath. He knows that voice. He knows it's Bucky. Hearing that voice say Bucky confirms it, sends Steve back twenty years to a noisy cafeteria and a skinny boy shaking his hand. The accent's weird—Bucky's accent was always Brooklyn through and through, and this sounds more Russian, like Natasha, but Steve knows Bucky's voice in his bones.
“I was in a pretty bad accident, I guess,” Bucky finally just bypasses Steve and starts talking. “That's what the doctors tell me. I just, uh, I don't really remember it. But I have nightmares about it.”
“The doctors—you, um...” Steve's breathing way too fast. He's going to pass out. He puts a hand over his eyes. “What's your name?”
“They call me Yasha. I—I didn't have a name. I mean, I didn't remember having a name.” He sounds confused and Steve can see the way his brow must be wrinkled in his head, memorized from seeing it a million times.
“Well, um, Yasha. Do you see a therapist?”
He scoffs. “I see like a dozen. And none of them can figure out why I don't have my memories back after a year but I keep seeing the same face in my dreams.”
“What face?” Steve squeaks.
“Yours.”
“Dear God.” Steve knows he's going to pass out. His vision's getting dark around the edges. “Buck. Please. Come to the station.”
“Do you know me?” Bucky asks plaintively. Steve's crying, trying to take deep, steadying breaths so he doesn't leave Bucky hanging on the line.
“I know you,” Steve confirms, voice all choked. “Please, please come—meet me somewhere, oh Jesus, Buck, I thought you were dead all this time.”
“I...” Bucky hesitates. “Okay,” he says, and Steve's heart threatens to pound right out of his chest. “Where can I meet you?”
Steve doesn't remember anything that happens after that. He must tell Bucky where the station is and end the call—how could he ever end that call?—but he doesn't know what he said. All he knows is he's rushing off the stage.
Tony Stark, the guy who owns the station, is standing wide-eyed just behind the camera. “What the hell was that, Cap?” It doesn't matter how many times Steve reminds Tony he was never made Captain—being an Army vet makes him Cap.
“That—I was—my...” Steve's still on the verge of hyperventilating and Tony looks, frankly, terrified at the prospect, because the likelihood that Tony can hold Steve up is almost zero. Steve takes a deep breath that makes him sound like he's still a ninety-pound asthmatic.
“Steve, what's wrong?” Peggy's there early. Steve's blood freezes. Peggy. What's Steve supposed to do now?
“Bucky,” he manages to whisper.
“They found him?” She gasps. She knows the story. She remembers Bucky from high school, all cocky smiles and backward baseball caps and a fierce protective streak. She's woken up more than once to Steve screaming Bucky's name in his sleep and told him sternly one especially tough night that Bucky's death wasn't his fault.
“He called in.” Steve knows he sounds dazed but he can't help it. Bucky. “He doesn't remember anything. He said—he knows me.”
He waits for hours, but Bucky doesn't come. Can Bucky drive? Where does Bucky live? He jumps when he feels a hand on his shoulder. It's Peggy. Her show's over and Steve's been sitting there for two hours.
“Steve.” She bends down and kisses the top of his head. “You need to go to sleep.” Peggy knows too well how little Steve sleeps, and he'd had a rough night the night before, so he's running on about four hours.
“He said he'd come,” Steve whispers.
Peggy's quiet for a while. Tears haven't stopped prickling in Steve's eyes the whole time. He'll think he has it under control, and then he remembers Bucky's face, or he thinks about hearing Bucky's voice with a weird accent, and his throat gets all tight again.
“Well,” she says crisply, and Steve's worried she's going to give him some kind of ultimatum. “Have you asked Stark to trace the call?”
Steve's head snaps up so fast he almost collides with hers. “Pegs. God, you're a genius.”
She smirks at him. “Well, one of us should be.”
“I can't...what would I do without you?” He scrambles up from the curb and runs back into the building, down the hall to Stark's office. He hammers on it until it opens.
“Stark, can you—” Steve stops. It isn't Stark. It's a woman with a very fierce expression on her face.
“Can I help you?” She asks, an eyebrow raised.
“I, um, I need to talk to Stark. Mr. Stark.”
“He's about to leave,” she tells him, watching as his face gets desperate.
“No, please. Please. It's about—I do one of the shows, and someone called in, and it was my—it was Bucky, and he said he'd come and he didn't and I need Stark to trace the call because it's Bucky.” His words are all rushed, jumbled.
She stares at him for a minute and Steve does his best puppy dog face, the one Bucky said should have some kind of warning because no one could say no. It must be true. “Okay,” she relents. “Come on in.”
Stark sends him down the hall to another office, where a grouchy man named Phillips gives Steve the address the call came from. “It's a secure facility,” Phillips tells him skeptically. “They're not going to let you just walk in.”
“Thank you,” Steve says dismissively. He takes off running as soon as he closes the door behind him.
“I'm looking for Yasha,” he tells the man at the front desk. He has a nameplate that reads Brock.
“And you are?”
“Steve Rogers.”
Brock raises an eyebrow. “Are you family?”
“Yes,” Steve says immediately, then amends. “We grew up together.”
“Yasha isn't very stable,” Brock tells him. “And he's had a rough night. I don't think he's up for visitors.”
“I'm not leaving until I see him,” Steve growls. Brock narrows his eyes.
“His doctor will have to okay it.”
“Can you call the doctor, then?” Steve asks, trying to keep his voice level. This guy's just trying to do his job. It wouldn't be fair for Steve to lash out at him. It's probably keeping the people here safe.
“It's 7 am,” Brock points out. Steve takes a deep breath and digs his knuckles into his eyes.
“Please,” he says quietly. “I need to see him. I thought he was dead.”
Brock taps his fingers on the desk. Before he says anything, the doors open and a sharply dressed man walks in. “Doctor Pierce,” Brock says smoothly.
“Are you Yasha's doctor?” Steve interrupts. Dr. Pierce looks him up and down.
“One of them,” he says with a charming smile. “And you are?”
“I'm his best friend. He—he called into my show. He remembers me.”
“Yasha has amnesia.” Dr. Pierce has regret all over his features, but something about him gives Steve the creeps. “He doesn't remember anyone. He's been here a year and no one's come for him. I'm sorry; you must be mistaken.”
“No,” Steve says firmly. “I heard his voice. I know it's him. Please, can't you just let me see him? To make sure?”
“I'm afraid visitors are very upsetting for poor Yasha.” Pierce is definitely manufacturing all the emotion he's drumming up and Steve feels his blood starting to boil. “His behavior is erratic and irrational. It wouldn't be safe for either of you.”
“I'm not leaving,” Steve says loudly. He even crosses his arms for effect. He tries not to think about how that effect might be childishly petulant.
“Mr. Rumlow, go fetch Yasha,” Pierce says. Steve does his best not to look smug.
“Sir?” Brock sounds hesitant. “Yasha's in...therapy.”
“I'm aware.” Pierce's voice is bland and something is making the hairs on the back of Steve's neck stand up. Brock makes a jerky little nod with his head and disappears into the back.
“So, you think you know Yasha?” Pierce asks. “Based on a phone call?”
“I know it's him.” Steve is immovable. Steve's a brick wall. Steve knows in his bones this is Bucky. He's not going to budge. And then Brock is back, and he's leading a man with long, stringy hair, who is somehow more muscular than Bucky was but also looks more underfed, who has a metal arm, and his eyes are blank and terrified, but Steve's got tears overflowing from his eyes because that is Bucky, no two ways about it. Another man, a portly guy with glasses, comes out behind them, and something about the sneer on his face makes Steve instantly hate him.
“Bucky,” He chokes out. Bucky keeps staring at the ground, but his forehead creases in confusion.
“Yasha,” Pierce says, and Steve doesn't miss the little flinch that goes through Bucky. “Do you know this man?”
Bucky swallows hard, barely even glancing at Steve, letting his hair fall forward into his eyes to block Steve from his vision. “Dr. Zola said I don't,” he reports quietly.
“Buck?” Steve can't help but interrupt. Little tremors are running up and down Bucky's body. “What's wrong?” He shoots a glare at Pierce. “What have you done to him?”
Bucky says something in Russian and Brock answers him. Dr. Zola raises an eyebrow. “What did we say about Russian, Yasha?” He's got a heavy accent, too, but different from the one Bucky's sporting these days. Bucky says something in what sounds like German and Steve stares helplessly.
“Yasha doesn't appear to know you.” Pierce fakes apologetic pretty well but Steve can see the smirk in his eyes. This must be why he allowed Steve to see Bucky; he knew Bucky would react this way. Steve takes a half-step closer to Bucky.
“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes,” he says softly. “You've known me your whole life.”
Bucky's eyes are painfully wide now, his chest heaving as he breathes, and he babbles in whatever language—German, Russian, Steve doesn't know, but Bucky's voice is getting louder now and he's shaking his head, backing away from Steve. Steve's stomach feels like it's turning inside out, sick from the terror and confusion in Bucky's eyes.
“I'm with you to the end of the line,” Steve throws out desperately. He and Bucky used to say it to one another when they were separating for long periods of time, which up until Bucky joined the Army before Steve had meant a week for summer camp. Bucky had said it to Steve the first day they'd met, and the day Steve's mother had died, and the day he'd shipped out. Steve had said it when he'd shown up at Bucky's base in his own fatigues, and when he'd agreed to be Bucky's pilot.
“What?” Bucky whispers. He's looking straight into Steve's eyes now, and Steve wants to punch Pierce's stupid face, stricken now as he realizes Bucky's looking right at Steve and actually responding. I told you, Steve wants to scream. I told you he'd know me.
“Buck, what happened to you?” Steve asks, voice cracking.
“I...I don't...” Bucky shakes his head.
Everything after that is a blur. There are meetings and papers to sign and Steve has to fix a window he breaks when they find the documents Dr. Zola got Bucky to sign that gave his consent to do medical testing on him. Sam gets them in touch with a lawyer who helps vets specifically so they can sue Zola and Pierce for preying on Bucky when he wasn't completely competent. But the only thing that really matters to Steve is that Bucky comes home with him, and every time Bucky says his name he smiles a little, like he likes the shape of it.
Bucky's memories start coming back. Amazing how that happens when people aren't sending electric shocks into his brain every time he asks about a memory. Steve does his best to avoid the subject of Zola and Pierce and their “research facility” because it makes him break things. Luckily, his sentiments are shared by Bucky's new neuroscientist, Dr. Banner, who'd thrown a tray the first time he'd told Steve about the extent of the damage to Bucky's brain. Steve likes Dr. Banner immensely.
“I thought you were smaller,” Bucky says one day out of the blue, and Steve laughs so long Bucky joins in confusedly.
In all of Steve's wildest fantasies, Bucky comes home to him. And here it is, coming true. How many nights has Steve woken up from this dream? He wakes up every morning and checks Bucky's room to make sure he's real.
Unfortunately, life isn't a fairytale. Bucky doesn't magically remember everything. He was found in the desert by Taliban forces and thrown into a POW camp. On bad days, he speaks first in Russian, because some Russian troops liberated the camp he was in and taught him to speak beyond the few words of Arabic he'd forcibly picked up that meant things like prisoner and please and yes sir. If his dog tags had survived the crash, the camp guards had taken them, because when the Russians found him Bucky had nothing to identify him, not even anything indicating he was American. He also sometimes speaks in German, because Zola had been testing hypotheses about learning language and pain. Bucky'd fallen from a plane, lost his arm and his memories, been beaten and starved, been rescued, and been medically experimented on. His memories are coming back, but the process is slow and patchy and Bucky breaks down into frustrated tears at least twice a week.
“I'm amazed he isn't catatonic,” Sam tells Steve one day as Steve waits for Bucky to come out of a session with his favorite therapist, Dr. Xavier. “After everything he's been through? Most guys would be in a secure facility somewhere.”
“He was,” Steve says darkly. Sam hastily changes the subject.
“Steve?” Bucky asks one day over breakfast. Steve's taken time off work, taking his time to be with Bucky before going back, even if Bucky's asleep the hours Steve would be gone anyway. Once they'd proven Bucky was, in fact, James Buchanan Barnes, alive and decidedly unwell, the Army had covered Bucky's therapy costs and given him some back-pay, so the extra mouth to feed doesn't put Steve under.
“Yeah, Buck?” Steve says Bucky's name as often as possible, getting a kick out of getting to say it and seeing Bucky respond.
“How's Peggy?”
Steve gapes for a second. He's been doing his best to keep Bucky from knowing about Peggy. He can't pinpoint exactly why, since so far Bucky's given no indication he remembers the part of their friendship that involved sloppy kisses and teenage fumbling in the dark and an I love you here or there right before one of them left on a patrol with a 50/50 chance of death.
“You remember Peggy?” Steve asks carefully instead of answering.
“Sure do, punk, and I remember how smitten you were. You couldn't even look at her without having an asthma attack and you cried for like a week after she left.”
“I did not cry,” Steve protests.
“I remember you crying.”
“Yeah, well, you have amnesia; what do you know?”
“Steve.” Bucky points at him with his fork, a bit of waffle wobbling ominously. “Sam told me you and Peggy've been dating for a few months now. And I haven't seen her once in the month I've been back.” Bucky raises an eyebrow, a gesture so familiar Steve's heart hurts for a second. “What gives?”
Steve takes a bite to give himself a minute to gather his thoughts. “I wasn't sure you were up to seeing anyone.”
“Except for Sam and Natasha and that Tony Stark guy and his girlfriend Pepper and all those therapists.”
Steve becomes very interested in his (empty, dammit) plate. He makes a weird sort of mumbling sound that might pass as words for someone who hasn't known him since he was seven. Bucky taps his fork against his plate in the way he knows irritates Steve like hell.
“I didn't want to push her in your face,” Steve finally says quietly. Bucky doesn't say anything for a minute.
“Because you found someone to make you happy when I couldn't?” Bucky responds, just as softly. Steve's head snaps up.
“So you do remember?” His voice is weirdly hoarse. Bucky's shoulders slump a little.
“Wasn't totally sure,” Bucky admits. “I remembered, uh, wanting you, at first. And then I remembered some stuff, but I didn't know if it was real.”
“It was real.”
The kitchen is silent. Bucky even stops tapping his fork. “Don't let it fall apart with Peggy, Stevie.”
“Buck...”
“Hey. Look at me," Bucky commands. Steve does as he's told. “I'm here no matter what, huh? I mean, I don't exactly have anywhere else to go—I guess I could look up Becca, if you need me to go.” Becca is Bucky's half-sister that he hasn't seen since he was nine and they went into foster care.
“I don't want you to go,” Steve says frantically. Bucky holds up a hand to shush him.
“I'm not leaving until you kick me out,” he promises. “And it's not me waiting around hoping you'll crawl into bed some night, alright? Well, besides the usual,” he amends, because they sleep in the same bed pretty regularly when one of them is having nightmares. “I'm just saying...Peggy's a good thing. She's always loved you the way you deserve, you know? So I don't want you dropping that because you don't want to hurt my feelings. I'm a big boy.”
Steve nods but can't say anything for a minute. He considers telling Bucky he loves Peggy but decides that's cruel, no matter what Bucky says, so he settles for, “Maybe she'll want to come to the museum with us Saturday.”
“Yeah, well, make her bring Natasha. I ain't third-wheeling. I'm not you.”
Steve throws a blueberry at his face.
Bucky and Peggy are cordial to one another. Steve goes back to work and even stays nights at Peggy's now and then. Bucky gets a part-time job at an animal shelter, two days a week, more to get out of the house than for the money. He comes home smelling like dog shit but loves the job nonetheless. Steve goes to see him at work sometimes, and always ends up drawing Bucky with the puppies when they get home. It's an irresistible sight and one sold for an amount of money that left Bucky speechless with incredulity.
“Steve,” Peggy sighs one night when they're almost done with dinner. They'd actually gone out to a restaurant, something Steve guiltily realizes hasn't happened in months. “Are you hearing a word I'm saying?”
“I'm sorry,” Steve apologizes instantly, because he knows he hasn't been paying attention. Bucky's been remembering his mother lately and it's not exactly a good thing. “You were telling me about...a new self-defense move?”
Peggy considers him for a minute. “That was twenty minutes ago, Steve.” Steve cringes.
“I'm an asshole.”
“Not terribly so.” Peggy is sort of agreeing with him and that's how Steve knows it's really bad. “It's Barnes, isn't it?” She's always called Bucky by his last name, since high-school when he was in a pretty bad foster home and was very aggressive about reminding everyone of his real last name.
“I know he can be alone. He's not a kid.” Steve shrugs. “I just feel...I feel guilty when I leave him, Pegs. I let him rot in that hellhole for almost a year.”
“That wasn't your fault,” Peggy says sharply. They've been over it. “Were you going to mount a rescue mission whilst in a coma?”
“I didn't go look for him,” Steve says stubbornly. “I got out of the hospital and I got honorably discharged. I could've—you know, I could've joined one of those private security firms that does work in the Middle East and gone looking for him. I could have found him in that camp and saved him.”
Peggy actually laughs. “You're so dramatic,” she says fondly. “Do you think he blames you?”
“He never says he does.”
“If your roles were reversed, would you blame him?”
“Of course not. I know, I know, I'm being crazy.” Steve sighs and rubs at his eyes. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't keep talking about Bucky.”
“Steve.” Peggy takes his hand across the table. “I knew before, you know. In high school.” Steve's mouth goes dry.
“Knew what?”
“Oh, Steve. I've always known how you felt about him. And I've gotten in the way long enough. You should be with him.”
“Peggy—you're not in the way; you and I are—”
“I should rephrase that.” She smiles sadly. “I'm done competing with him. I thought I could win, and maybe I stayed longer than I should have because I wanted to win. But now I can see...it's always been him, hasn't it?”
Steve's shoulders slump. “Can't I have you both?” He jokes weakly.
“I don't think you actually want us both,” she says gently. She pats his hand and then takes hers away, back to her side of the table where Steve can see she's already gathering her things to leave.
“I'm so sorry, Peggy,” Steve tells her as she stands up to leave. He really, genuinely is. He feels terrible for how he's treated her, because if he's really honest with himself he knows Peggy never had top billing in his heart, not even when he thought Bucky was dead. “None of this was fair to you.”
She comes around and kisses him on the cheek. “None of this was fair to any of us. Life isn't fair, Steve. And don't you worry about me. I don't want you to get too cocky and think I can't get over you.”
He laughs a little. “Oh, I'm sure you will.” They look at each other for a moment longer, and then she smiles one last time. Her lipstick is still perfect.
“Goodbye, Steve.”
Steve walks around with his hands in his pockets for a while. He's upset. He really is. He loves her. He loved her? He isn't sure. He does know he doesn't feel comfortable walking straight into Bucky's arms, no matter how long he ached for Bucky. It feels like it wouldn't be fair to Peggy. And probably not to Bucky, because Steve's feeling blue about losing Peggy. He wants to punch something. This is confusing.
He finds himself wandering into the station for no discernible reason. It's 8 pm, so the semi-popular variety show a bunch of teenagers put on is shooting. He watches for a little while, mustering up a smile at a few of their gags, and then he feels a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, soldier.” It's Natasha. “Aren't you supposed to be on a date?”
“Uh, yeah.” Steve gives her a half-smile. “I was. And then my date dumped me.” It comes out sounding far more self-pitying than Steve has any right to sound. Natasha's face, of course, doesn't change.
“She did.” She doesn't even make it a question.
“Well.” Steve shrugs. “I deserved it.”
Natasha stares at him for long enough to make him fidget in discomfort. “Because you're in love with Barnes.” She sounds almost surprised, which for her means she's astonished. He shrugs again and she arches an eyebrow. “You're not even denying it? Wow. I had you all down for a gay panic.”
“You're about ten years too late for that. And it was a bisexual panic, thank you very much.”
“And for you, of course, panic meant you were shocked to find you were in love with your best friend.” She gives him an assessing look. “You think he has any idea?”
Steve laughs out loud at that. “Oh, he has an idea.”
“Really? Wow, I so did not see this coming.” Her voice is flat as ever, so Steve can't tell if she's being sarcastic.
“And the thing is—the thing is, I know he's it for me. I've only loved two people in my life and Peggy was the other one. So if it's not her, well. I just feel bad going partner-hopping.”
“Oh, of course. Isn't a three-month mourning period the standard?” She huffs a laugh at him. “Rogers. Please. It's okay to jump back into bed with your long-lost best friend slash true love when he comes back from the dead. It's going to happen eventually, right? Why wait?”
“Respect for Peggy?”
Natasha shakes her head, but she's smiling a little. “You know, if you were anyone else I'd think that was a line. But you really are that genuine.” She looks serious. “Peggy's not an idiot. I'm guessing she told you to go for Barnes?”
“Well, she didn't say—”
“But she knows you're in love with him?” Natasha doesn't wait for an answer this time. “She figured you'd go for him. She's bowing out gracefully. I mean, come on, Steve. How long have you loved the guy?”
Steve laughs a little. “Um, forever? Longer than I even knew? Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky, so...yeah.”
“Yeah,” she echoes. “And you thought he was dead.” The thought still makes him swallow hard, and in a rush he realizes why Bucky had told him to stick with Peggy. Peggy was the best person other than Bucky (or Sam, but he kind of didn't count because he was a trained professional) at keeping Steve living in the present moment, at dragging Steve from his dark thoughts and sadness. Peggy had dragged Steve out of the clouds and back into the sunlight, but it had still been temporary.
“I was a mess,” Steve admits. “I missed him so much. I...” He trails off, suddenly wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed beside Bucky and stick his nose into the juncture of Bucky's shoulder and neck and inhale Bucky's scent and warmth. There are, of course, other reasons he wants to crawl into bed beside Bucky, but the number one thing he thinks of just then is comfort, in every way Bucky's ever given it to him.
Natasha pats his shoulder. “Go get him, tiger.”
He doesn't run home. He walks back to his car. He obeys every traffic light and speed limit. He takes the stairs at a normal, steady pace. He opens the door quietly, and when he swings it open, there's Bucky, lying across the couch in sweats and no shirt, laughing quietly at something a character just said. Sure, his hair's longer and one arm is metal and there's a darkness in his eyes that Steve wishes desperately he could chase away, but this is Bucky and this could be any year of their lives because it's always, always been Steve and Bucky at the end of the day, no matter how many dates either of them (mostly Bucky) went on or other friends they made.
Steve has to suck in a breath at that, and he can feel actual tears pricking hot in his eyes. Bucky is real. Bucky is alive. And Bucky is here.
“Hey, pal, you're home early,” Bucky says, lifting up his legs so Steve can slide under them, and when has Bucky's feet in Steve's lap ever meant so much? Steve is actually hugging Bucky's ankles before he can stop himself, and Bucky is staring bemusedly before Steve gets it together enough to blurt out,
“Peggy and I are through.”
It's quiet for a minute. “Steve,” Bucky starts. “I told you—”
“It was her, not me,” Steve promises.
“That doesn't mean you did what I said,” Bucky points out. “I said don't let it fall apart on my account.”
“Buck.” Steve finds himself clutching onto Bucky's feet like he has some kind of fetish. “There was no way in hell I was going to be able to keep that promise.”
“Steve,” Bucky breathes.
“Listen, Bucky, really. I—the only way I could ever be with someone else was because I thought you were dead, and it was someone I'd already been with before you. I can't—there's no one else out there. Okay? It's you. You're it for me. I was ruined for you when I was seventeen and you kissed me the first time.”
It's dramatic and probably an unhealthy level of codependent, and normally Bucky would call him on it, but Bucky's eyes are all shiny because Bucky's always been an easy crier and is even more so now. “Stevie,” he whispers, blinking quickly. “I'm no good for you.” It's not a new argument. Bucky's been claiming this since they first got the nerve up to grab each other's dicks.
“You're the best thing for me,” Steve argues. “You always have been. Who else knows me as well as you do, huh? Who can make me laugh like you? Who loves me so much he was telling me to be with someone else?”
Bucky shakes his head. “I'm not like I used to be.”
“Of course you're not, Buck. Neither am I. I wouldn't want you to be exactly the same. Alright? Hey.” Steve jostles Bucky's feet to get him to meet his gaze. “You think anyone else's gonna take care of me the way you can?”
The tiniest hint of a smile cracks Bucky's face and Steve feels his heart jump. “It is a tough job,” Bucky murmurs. Steve can't hold back. He bends down and kisses Bucky's ankle, barely a soft press of his lips.
“Get away from my feet, you deviant.” Bucky's voice is thick and Steve laughs. “Get up here and kiss me right.”
Steve takes his time crawling up Bucky's body and tickles Bucky's ribs on his way up, the spot Bucky keeps people away from because he's never outgrown how ticklish he is there, and Bucky's giggling by the time Steve makes it up to his face.
“Hi,” Bucky says when Steve's hovering over him.
“Hi,” Steve replies, grinning wide enough to split his face. Bucky grins back just as wide.
“Waiting for something?” He asks. Steve stares down at his face.
“I'm just...” He shakes his head. “I'm just taking it all in. Memorizing your face. Memorizing this moment.”
Bucky cracks up. “What the hell happened to you while I was gone?” He laughs. “Someone let you turn into a sap. C'mere.” He arches up and kisses Steve. “I'm not waiting for you to memorize nothing. I know what a lug you are; that could take years.”
“Years, huh?” Steve rubs their noses together because he knows it makes Bucky crazy. “You making promises, James Buchanan Barnes?”
“Mm.” Bucky kisses him again because he never did learn an ounce of patience. “Only to you, Stevie. Only person I've ever promised anything. Only person I ever will.”
Life goes on, and this time, Steve figures out how to go with it.