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Summary
Bucky steps a little closer. Dares to rest his chin on Steve's shoulder. Warmth, and the rise and fall of Steve breathing.
"What would you want?"
"To take care of you." He grips Bucky's limp left hand, thumb brushing across the back of his hand, the machinery there. "For you to let me take care of you."
Bucky lets himself rest his forehead on Steve's shoulder, drops his hand to rest on Steve's hip.
"All right."
