fic: Internal Displacement (Avengers; Steve/Bucky; pg)
Internal Displacement
Avengers (2012); Steve/Bucky; pg; 3,830 words
Bucky can't imagine choosing anyone but Steve, time and time again.
For
sniffleheim. It's not exactly what you prompted, but I hope it suffices. (Also for the West Wing title project.) Thanks to
angelgazing for handholding and cheerleading as I wrote.
~*~
Internal Displacement
Bucky hadn't been Steve's only friend while they were growing up, but he'd been the closest, the one who'd stepped in when Steve was being bullied, the one who'd scrounged up food and money and whatever else Steve needed when he was sick, and the one who'd finagled them an apartment and odd jobs when money was tight and there was no work.
During the war, he'd followed Steve and watched his back through the sights of his rifle, always making sure to take care of Steve while Steve took care of everyone else. He'd loved the Commandos--he and Dum Dum had fought together at Azzano before they'd been captured, and he'd gotten close to Gabe and Jim and Monty and Jacques during their time together, and he'd liked that Steve had other people to rely on, even if Steve wore himself thin to make sure they were all okay. It comforts Bucky to know that Steve had people looking out for him--people who'd loved him--after he was gone and couldn't do it anymore. (He's glad Steve had Peggy, too, had the dame he'd always dreamt of, and he'd pushed down all those other feelings then, tried not to admit them even to himself, and he'll do it again now if he has to.)
Of course, they hadn't really done such a great job taking care of Steve, but Steve was always notoriously pigheaded and noble, and even Bucky probably couldn't have stopped him from sacrificing himself to save the world, so he doesn't blame them much. (To be honest, he's kind of thankful, because otherwise, Steve might not be here with him now.)
And he's glad that Steve has friends now, another team of heroes willing to follow him into the jaws of death, even if none of them knew him when he was skinny Steve from Avenue X. This team already has a sniper and it already has a spy, though, and even if Bucky wishes he were the one watching Steve's six on missions, well, Steve could do a lot worse than Clint and Natasha.
But it doesn't leave much room for one J. Bucky Barnes in Steve's life anymore.
Right now, Steve's glad-handing the local politicians and giving everyone their moment in the spotlight with Captain America, while Bucky leans against the bar and watches. It wasn't so long ago (except for how it was) that their positions were reversed, and Bucky's pretty sure that Steve hadn't had this same jealousy souring his belly when Bucky was the belle of the ball. Just one more indication that even before they were what they are now, Bucky still wasn't half the man Steve was.
When Maria Hill steers Steve onto the dance floor and into a surprisingly nimble foxtrot, Bucky catches the eye of the bartender and taps the rim of his glass. The bartender fills it with more Jim Beam.
"The pining was amusing for a while," Natasha says, joining him at the bar, "but now you're just pathetic."
Bucky gives her a tight half-grin and a salute with his glass before he drains it. "Thanks. I know I can always count on you for encouragement, Nat."
"I've been told that open and honest communication is the key to good relationships." She signals the bartender and smiles at him when her glass of wine is refilled. "I'm trying it out."
"It's certainly a new look for you," Bucky answers.
"A good one, though, right?"
He leans an elbow at the bar and looks at her more closely. "It's not like you to fish for compliments."
"I wasn't fishing so much as stating the truth."
Bucky's smile this time is genuine, unforced. "Okay, then. Yes, it's a good look for you. Aren't they all?"
"Of course. But it's nice to hear you say so." She sips at her wine as they watch the dancers swirl across the floor, then places her glass on the bar and holds a hand out to him. "Dance with me, James."
He glances over to where Steve is still dancing with Maria. "Your girlfriend's not going to swoop in and try to kill me, is she?"
Natasha laughs. "I think you can take her. But I'm sure Steve will protect you if you can't."
Even as he leads her out onto the dance floor, he can't avoid the implication of Natasha's words. With the possible exception of her and Steve (and he knows from unfortunate firsthand experience that even they're not bulletproof), there's no one here that he wouldn't be able to kill if he needed to. If he were ordered to; if this whole thing is just a long con Lukin is perpetrating. And even eight months after his programming was broken and SHIELD released him from custody, Bucky still lies awake some nights wondering if that's what's really happening. Of course, Thor and the Hulk would pose a problem even for the Winter Soldier at his best, but Thor is home in Asgard, and Dr. Banner tries to avoid these events when he can--when Pepper lets him. Bucky hates that his brain makes that connection so easily, that the way to get at the heroes he can't kill outright is to use the people they love against them.
Natasha shakes her head and taps his cheek lightly with her fingers, calling him back to the present. He's grateful she doesn't say anything else until they swing past Steve and Maria. "Trade?" she asks Steve, giving Maria a leer that makes Steve blush from mere proximity.
Steve gives them a rueful half-grin and offers Maria's hand to Natasha. "I'm sure Bucky's toes would be in less danger," he says, and they all glance down at Maria's strappy silver high-heeled sandals.
"I'd love to," Maria says, "but the paparazzi would have a field day."
"Yeah, I bet pictures of Captain America dancing with a man would sure sell a lot of papers," Bucky says, nonchalant, even though his palm is sweating against the thin material of Natasha's dress.
"They already know about you and Captain America," Natasha says as she whirls him away, leaving behind Maria's laughter and Steve's startled look. "But Maria and I are a well-kept secret and I'd like to keep it that way."
"What?"
Natasha gives him a look he can't interpret, which is pretty much par for the course with her, but it's still frustrating, because he's used to being able to read people and adjust to their mood and expectations. It's a skill he's always possessed, one Department X honed to razor-sharpness, but it seems to have deserted him lately. She shakes her head again and smirks. "Everyone knows that Captain America is devoted to Bucky. It's in all the comic books."
His mouth twists in something between disgust and annoyance but he bites back another rant about the comics. She's heard it all before. The dance finally ends and Natasha takes pity on him and lets him head back to the bar without too much more teasing.
"Listen, you can stand here glowering and drinking all night, or you can do something about it. The man I knew--"
"I'm not--"
"And more importantly, the man Steve knows," she continues over his attempt to interrupt, "would do something."
"I'll think about it," he answers grudgingly.
"Try not to strain yourself," she says, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before she disappears into the crowd.
He's finishing up another glass of bourbon when he notices Steve heading towards the foyer. The one good thing about holding these events at the tower is the easy escape, and Bucky's able to intercept him at the elevators.
"Calling it a night?" he asks as Steve presses the button for their floor.
Steve runs a hand through his hair, messing up the gelled perfection of it and making it stand on end. He looks younger and more human that way, more Steve and less Captain America. "Yeah. I shook enough hands and stepped on enough toes for one night." There's that rueful grin again, as familiar as Bucky's own face (more, even, now, given the confusion he sometimes feels when he looks in the mirror).
Bucky laughs. "You're no Ginger, Rogers."
Steve lets out a low groan and punches his shoulder gently. "How long you been holding onto that one?"
"Long time." He shrugs and gives Steve his best deadpan look.
Steve shakes his head, but he's smiling. "Unlike us, that joke did not improve with age."
Bucky turns to face him, close enough that he can smell Steve's aftershave and hair gel and the scotch on his breath. Bucky inhales, gathering the courage that seems to have deserted him when it comes to Steve, and then he leans in and presses his lips to Steve's. Steve lets out a startled yelp that's muffled by Bucky's lips, and Bucky takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into Steve's mouth, drinking in the heat of it, the slick glide of his teeth and the rough velvet of his tongue, headier than all the bourbon he's had tonight.
He curls his fingers in the lapels of Steve's jacket and presses closer, his whole body jangling with nerves and desire, as Steve tentatively kisses him back. And then Steve's hands are on his shoulders, large and warm and gentle, pushing him away.
"Had a little too much to drink tonight, huh?" Steve says, the look on his face unreadable, and that Bucky's not used to at all, not from Steve. The elevator dings and the doors slide open, and Steve manhandles him into the suite. "I'll get you some water," he says, parking Bucky in front of his bedroom door. "You can sleep it off."
"Yeah," Bucky says, defeated.
*
Steve doesn't bring it up in the morning, so Bucky lets it go. He'd known it was a long-shot and he knows how often those come in. The fact that he and Steve are here now, alive and together, if not completely whole, will have to be enough.
And it's not like he's not used to it, though it's harder than it was back in their day, when fear kept him from ever acknowledging his feelings outside his own head, and not even there all that much. He'd thought maybe the brainwashing had removed them, but they came back slowly, along with his memories, and it's nice to have something to obsess over that isn't all the terrible things he's done. But it's especially difficult to ignore now that he can replay those few seconds of Steve's lips opening under his and know what he's missing. He's not the first person to want someone he can't have, though, and he certainly won't be the last, so he's just going to have to suck it up and play the hand he's been dealt. He's never been much of a stiff-upper-lip kind of guy, but he always was for Steve, and that's not going to change, even when Natasha teases him about it.
So nothing changes between them--there's no awkwardness and no sudden instances of Steve checking out his ass or anything--but it's still hard to watch Steve flirt with other people. He's awkwardly charming, and the dames eat it up, even if half the time Steve doesn't even mean to flirt.
It's even worse because Bucky knows what it's like to be the center of his attention, and he misses it sometimes, with an ache that reminds him of the phantom pain of his left arm.
He walks into their suite late one afternoon a few weeks after the kissing incident to find Steve at his drawing board and Darcy posing on the couch like the reincarnation of every pinup girl they ever got hot and bothered over back in the war.
Steve looks up and squints at Bucky, then at the clock. "I didn't realize it was so late." He nods at Darcy. "You can move now."
"Oh, thank God," she says, bouncing up off the couch and walking over to Steve to rest her chin on his shoulder to see what he's drawn. "I like it," she announces with a big smile and then glances over at Bucky. "How come you never sit for him?"
Bucky looks down at his metal hand before he can check the impulse and shrugs.
"I've asked, believe me," Steve says. He tilts his head and presses a kiss to Darcy's cheek. "We're going to the movies tonight, if you want to come. They're showing Some Like It Hot at the Film Forum and Thor and I haven't seen it yet."
"Nobody's perfect." She flashes Bucky a wide grin, gives Steve a smacking kiss on his cheek, and saunters out. The two of them stare after her silently for a long moment.
"I didn't think they made 'em like that anymore," Bucky says, torn between admiration and jealousy.
"Yeah, she's a real firecracker," Steve replies, fond smile on his face. "And don't you go getting any ideas, Buck."
"I'm not gonna steal your girl, Steve." He smirks, because it's expected, and it's not as hard as he thought it might be--it's an old habit, and he really does want to see Steve happy, even if it's not with him. "I could, you know. But I'm not gonna."
Steve's smile fades. "She's not my girl, Bucky. She and Clint are together." His hair is falling into his eyes, hiding his expression, and he brushes it away absently. "I thought you knew."
"No," Bucky says. He keeps his smirk pinned in place. "Her loss, then."
Steve turns back to his drawing board. "Yeah." The tight line of his shoulders, tensed for rejection, is familiar enough to make Bucky's chest ache. It's not the first broken heart he's nursed Steve through, though every time, he hopes it'll be the last.
"Come on," he says, clapping Steve on the shoulder. "Let's grab a beer and a burger before the show."
Thor comes with them, and it's hard to stay broody around him, but Bucky's glad that Clint and Darcy have other plans and can't join them at the movie that night.
It's not that Bucky doesn't like Clint. He's an excellent marksman and he's been a good partner to Natasha and a good friend to Steve. Well, okay, maybe he doesn't like Clint, but only because sometimes it feels like Clint's replaced him in their lives, and even Bucky knows how ridiculous it is to feel that way. But even if he grants the man his good points, Bucky still can't imagine anyone choosing him over Steve.
Of course, Bucky can't imagine choosing anyone but Steve, time and time again, so maybe he's not the best judge.
*
Bucky hasn't exactly been Mr. Sociable since SHIELD broke his programming, but he withdraws from the others a little more after that. The only people likely to notice are Natasha and Steve, but Natasha's off in Malaysia on a mission, and Steve's scheduled to within an inch of his life, every hospital and nursing home and youth center clamoring for the time when he's not leading the Avengers or training SHIELD agents. And Bucky has his own work to do, lets himself sink into the silent clarity that comes with orders and distance; everything looks clearer through the scope of his rifle.
After a whirlwind tour of global hotspots on SHIELD's dime, he's tired and wired and cranky. He takes a hot shower, changes into sweats, and is toweling his hair dry when Steve comes in.
"Hey, I didn't know you were coming back today."
Bucky shrugs. "Me neither."
"Tony gave me and Thor tickets to see the Mets-Phillies game tonight at Citi Field. I'm sure there's another ticket, if you're interested."
Bucky feels another pang of nostalgia, and this time the ache is as much for the summer afternoons they'd spent at Ebbets Field as it is for the distance he can feel yawning between them, seventy years of ice and blood they were foolish enough to believe didn't matter.
"No," he says, hiding beneath his towel so Steve can't see the look on his face. "Thanks."
"You sure? It's no problem to ask Tony for another ticket. He's got a whole luxury box." Steve's voice turns cajoling. "I know it's not like sitting out in right field at Ebbets, but it'll be fun."
"Yeah, I'm sure you'll have fun with your new friends, Steve. Just leave me alone. I don't need your pity." He turns and heads back into his bedroom, but Steve is right there behind him, and he still forgets sometimes how strong Steve is, right up until Steve grabs his elbow and whirls him around. He drops the towel.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
Bucky jerks his arm out of Steve's grip and Steve lets him. "I don't think we have enough time for that. I wouldn't want to make you late for the game."
"Bucky." Steve glares at him, an annoyed furrow forming between his eyebrows. "Bucky," he repeats, softer this time, "I know it's hard, feeling out of place here."
"You know that, do you?"
"You know I do."
"It's not the same. You know that, too."
"Bucky." This time it's a plea, not a rebuke, and Bucky can't withstand that. He never could.
"You've got a new life here--a good life. And I'm glad for you. I really am. But I don't fit into it."
Steve huffs softly. "I don't know if you noticed, but this whole tower is basically the island of misfit toys." He looks so proud of himself for making that reference that Bucky smiles in response, and it only hurts a little around the edges.
"Does that make me the abominable snowman?"
Steve actually takes a second to think about it, then says, "I think that's probably Bruce. But you're still my best friend."
"As long as I'm not the elf dentist."
"No, I think that's probably Tony."
"I'm gonna tell him you said that."
Steve laughs. "It's not nearly the worst thing I've called him. To his face, even." He tilts his head, gives Bucky a small, encouraging smile. "Come on, Bucky. Come to the game with me."
Bucky thinks about it for a long moment, thinks about something that shouldn't require a moment's thought, and finally says, "Yeah, all right."
*
The game is more fun than Bucky expected, and though he'd still prefer to be out in the bleachers than up in a luxury box, the box does come with its own bar and wait staff, so they don't have to stand on lines for anything and get stared at, though Thor and Steve attract attention no matter what, and Bucky's not immune to that, either.
He spends a lot of time surreptitiously watching Steve--it's another one of the skills he honed long before the army got ahold of him, but all the spy training has made him even better at it, and he doesn't think Steve notices.
When he's not watching Steve, he's watching Thor, who gets as excited about baseball as he does everything else. He cheers when Wright hits a home run and roars to his feet on a close play at the plate and yells as loudly as the home crowd when Tejada is called out even though he was safe.
This time, Bucky catches Steve's eye, nods his chin at Thor, and grins. Steve grins back, and Bucky thinks maybe there's a place for him here after all. It might not be the one he really wants, but he can live with that.
"See," Steve says, at the end of the game, when they're contentedly full of beer and hot dogs and Steve's face is slightly sunburned (which will fade by the time they get home), "some things haven't changed all that much." He catches and holds Bucky's gaze, and Bucky feels like all Steve's attention is on him--it's like the sun coming out after a long dark winter. It makes the ride back into the city go quickly, and Thor enthusing about the variety of food available at the ballpark and the Mets' mighty prowess with the bat even more amusing than usual.
Back at the tower, Bucky kicks off his shoes and starts stripping. His t-shirt is on the floor and he's working on undoing the buttons on his fly when he notices Steve has stopped and is staring at him.
"What?"
"Nothing, I just--" Steve shakes his head. "Nothing."
"Okay."
"Don't leave your shoes in the doorway," Steve says, turning away, the nape of his neck red. "Someone might trip over them."
Bucky walks back, bends over, and picks up his shoes. "That sunburn bothering you?"
Steve looks confused when he turns around to face Bucky again. "It's fine."
Bucky tosses his shoes into his bedroom and walks over to where Steve is still standing, strange expression on his face. Bucky reaches up (up, and that still gives him a small thrill he'll never admit to), and brushes his thumb over the arch of Steve's cheek, which is, unexpectedly, still red.
Steve wraps his fingers around Bucky's wrist but doesn't push it away. "Bucky."
"I think we got some aloe in the medicine chest," Bucky says, trying to sound normal and failing completely.
Steve turns his face to press a kiss to the palm of Bucky's hand, sending heat shivering through him. "I don't need any damn aloe." His voice is low and rough.
"Okay." It's barely a whisper. Bucky holds himself very still, poised to bolt if Steve lets him go, but ready to lean in if Steve wants him to.
"You've been kind of a jerk lately," Steve says, still in that low, rough voice. "I think I finally figured out why."
"Yeah?" Bucky answers. "Took you long enough."
"Yeah. You weren't very stealthy at the game today."
"I wasn't?"
"No. It's not Darcy you're sweet on."
"No, it's not."
Steve smiles. "Me, neither."
Bucky huffs in mock exasperation. "It's a good thing you're pretty."
Steve's other hand comes up to cup Bucky's cheek and tilt his face up. "If you're the brains of this operation, no wonder it took so long to get off the ground."
Bucky's laugh is cut off by Steve's kiss. Bucky sighs against his lips and opens his mouth to Steve's seeking tongue; he tastes of beer and hot dogs, and feels like coming home, like it's the two of them against the world again, ready to take on all comers with nothing but their fists and their dubious charm. It's everything he's ever wanted and better than he ever dared hope for.
"Come on," he says, tugging Steve towards his bedroom by his belt loops; they stumble over the shoes in the doorway, but since they land on the bed, legs and lips tangled together, Bucky doesn't care. "We've got a lot of catching up to do."
end
~*~
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Avengers (2012); Steve/Bucky; pg; 3,830 words
Bucky can't imagine choosing anyone but Steve, time and time again.
For
sniffleheim. It's not exactly what you prompted, but I hope it suffices. (Also for the West Wing title project.) Thanks to
angelgazing for handholding and cheerleading as I wrote.
~*~
Internal Displacement
Bucky hadn't been Steve's only friend while they were growing up, but he'd been the closest, the one who'd stepped in when Steve was being bullied, the one who'd scrounged up food and money and whatever else Steve needed when he was sick, and the one who'd finagled them an apartment and odd jobs when money was tight and there was no work.
During the war, he'd followed Steve and watched his back through the sights of his rifle, always making sure to take care of Steve while Steve took care of everyone else. He'd loved the Commandos--he and Dum Dum had fought together at Azzano before they'd been captured, and he'd gotten close to Gabe and Jim and Monty and Jacques during their time together, and he'd liked that Steve had other people to rely on, even if Steve wore himself thin to make sure they were all okay. It comforts Bucky to know that Steve had people looking out for him--people who'd loved him--after he was gone and couldn't do it anymore. (He's glad Steve had Peggy, too, had the dame he'd always dreamt of, and he'd pushed down all those other feelings then, tried not to admit them even to himself, and he'll do it again now if he has to.)
Of course, they hadn't really done such a great job taking care of Steve, but Steve was always notoriously pigheaded and noble, and even Bucky probably couldn't have stopped him from sacrificing himself to save the world, so he doesn't blame them much. (To be honest, he's kind of thankful, because otherwise, Steve might not be here with him now.)
And he's glad that Steve has friends now, another team of heroes willing to follow him into the jaws of death, even if none of them knew him when he was skinny Steve from Avenue X. This team already has a sniper and it already has a spy, though, and even if Bucky wishes he were the one watching Steve's six on missions, well, Steve could do a lot worse than Clint and Natasha.
But it doesn't leave much room for one J. Bucky Barnes in Steve's life anymore.
Right now, Steve's glad-handing the local politicians and giving everyone their moment in the spotlight with Captain America, while Bucky leans against the bar and watches. It wasn't so long ago (except for how it was) that their positions were reversed, and Bucky's pretty sure that Steve hadn't had this same jealousy souring his belly when Bucky was the belle of the ball. Just one more indication that even before they were what they are now, Bucky still wasn't half the man Steve was.
When Maria Hill steers Steve onto the dance floor and into a surprisingly nimble foxtrot, Bucky catches the eye of the bartender and taps the rim of his glass. The bartender fills it with more Jim Beam.
"The pining was amusing for a while," Natasha says, joining him at the bar, "but now you're just pathetic."
Bucky gives her a tight half-grin and a salute with his glass before he drains it. "Thanks. I know I can always count on you for encouragement, Nat."
"I've been told that open and honest communication is the key to good relationships." She signals the bartender and smiles at him when her glass of wine is refilled. "I'm trying it out."
"It's certainly a new look for you," Bucky answers.
"A good one, though, right?"
He leans an elbow at the bar and looks at her more closely. "It's not like you to fish for compliments."
"I wasn't fishing so much as stating the truth."
Bucky's smile this time is genuine, unforced. "Okay, then. Yes, it's a good look for you. Aren't they all?"
"Of course. But it's nice to hear you say so." She sips at her wine as they watch the dancers swirl across the floor, then places her glass on the bar and holds a hand out to him. "Dance with me, James."
He glances over to where Steve is still dancing with Maria. "Your girlfriend's not going to swoop in and try to kill me, is she?"
Natasha laughs. "I think you can take her. But I'm sure Steve will protect you if you can't."
Even as he leads her out onto the dance floor, he can't avoid the implication of Natasha's words. With the possible exception of her and Steve (and he knows from unfortunate firsthand experience that even they're not bulletproof), there's no one here that he wouldn't be able to kill if he needed to. If he were ordered to; if this whole thing is just a long con Lukin is perpetrating. And even eight months after his programming was broken and SHIELD released him from custody, Bucky still lies awake some nights wondering if that's what's really happening. Of course, Thor and the Hulk would pose a problem even for the Winter Soldier at his best, but Thor is home in Asgard, and Dr. Banner tries to avoid these events when he can--when Pepper lets him. Bucky hates that his brain makes that connection so easily, that the way to get at the heroes he can't kill outright is to use the people they love against them.
Natasha shakes her head and taps his cheek lightly with her fingers, calling him back to the present. He's grateful she doesn't say anything else until they swing past Steve and Maria. "Trade?" she asks Steve, giving Maria a leer that makes Steve blush from mere proximity.
Steve gives them a rueful half-grin and offers Maria's hand to Natasha. "I'm sure Bucky's toes would be in less danger," he says, and they all glance down at Maria's strappy silver high-heeled sandals.
"I'd love to," Maria says, "but the paparazzi would have a field day."
"Yeah, I bet pictures of Captain America dancing with a man would sure sell a lot of papers," Bucky says, nonchalant, even though his palm is sweating against the thin material of Natasha's dress.
"They already know about you and Captain America," Natasha says as she whirls him away, leaving behind Maria's laughter and Steve's startled look. "But Maria and I are a well-kept secret and I'd like to keep it that way."
"What?"
Natasha gives him a look he can't interpret, which is pretty much par for the course with her, but it's still frustrating, because he's used to being able to read people and adjust to their mood and expectations. It's a skill he's always possessed, one Department X honed to razor-sharpness, but it seems to have deserted him lately. She shakes her head again and smirks. "Everyone knows that Captain America is devoted to Bucky. It's in all the comic books."
His mouth twists in something between disgust and annoyance but he bites back another rant about the comics. She's heard it all before. The dance finally ends and Natasha takes pity on him and lets him head back to the bar without too much more teasing.
"Listen, you can stand here glowering and drinking all night, or you can do something about it. The man I knew--"
"I'm not--"
"And more importantly, the man Steve knows," she continues over his attempt to interrupt, "would do something."
"I'll think about it," he answers grudgingly.
"Try not to strain yourself," she says, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before she disappears into the crowd.
He's finishing up another glass of bourbon when he notices Steve heading towards the foyer. The one good thing about holding these events at the tower is the easy escape, and Bucky's able to intercept him at the elevators.
"Calling it a night?" he asks as Steve presses the button for their floor.
Steve runs a hand through his hair, messing up the gelled perfection of it and making it stand on end. He looks younger and more human that way, more Steve and less Captain America. "Yeah. I shook enough hands and stepped on enough toes for one night." There's that rueful grin again, as familiar as Bucky's own face (more, even, now, given the confusion he sometimes feels when he looks in the mirror).
Bucky laughs. "You're no Ginger, Rogers."
Steve lets out a low groan and punches his shoulder gently. "How long you been holding onto that one?"
"Long time." He shrugs and gives Steve his best deadpan look.
Steve shakes his head, but he's smiling. "Unlike us, that joke did not improve with age."
Bucky turns to face him, close enough that he can smell Steve's aftershave and hair gel and the scotch on his breath. Bucky inhales, gathering the courage that seems to have deserted him when it comes to Steve, and then he leans in and presses his lips to Steve's. Steve lets out a startled yelp that's muffled by Bucky's lips, and Bucky takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into Steve's mouth, drinking in the heat of it, the slick glide of his teeth and the rough velvet of his tongue, headier than all the bourbon he's had tonight.
He curls his fingers in the lapels of Steve's jacket and presses closer, his whole body jangling with nerves and desire, as Steve tentatively kisses him back. And then Steve's hands are on his shoulders, large and warm and gentle, pushing him away.
"Had a little too much to drink tonight, huh?" Steve says, the look on his face unreadable, and that Bucky's not used to at all, not from Steve. The elevator dings and the doors slide open, and Steve manhandles him into the suite. "I'll get you some water," he says, parking Bucky in front of his bedroom door. "You can sleep it off."
"Yeah," Bucky says, defeated.
*
Steve doesn't bring it up in the morning, so Bucky lets it go. He'd known it was a long-shot and he knows how often those come in. The fact that he and Steve are here now, alive and together, if not completely whole, will have to be enough.
And it's not like he's not used to it, though it's harder than it was back in their day, when fear kept him from ever acknowledging his feelings outside his own head, and not even there all that much. He'd thought maybe the brainwashing had removed them, but they came back slowly, along with his memories, and it's nice to have something to obsess over that isn't all the terrible things he's done. But it's especially difficult to ignore now that he can replay those few seconds of Steve's lips opening under his and know what he's missing. He's not the first person to want someone he can't have, though, and he certainly won't be the last, so he's just going to have to suck it up and play the hand he's been dealt. He's never been much of a stiff-upper-lip kind of guy, but he always was for Steve, and that's not going to change, even when Natasha teases him about it.
So nothing changes between them--there's no awkwardness and no sudden instances of Steve checking out his ass or anything--but it's still hard to watch Steve flirt with other people. He's awkwardly charming, and the dames eat it up, even if half the time Steve doesn't even mean to flirt.
It's even worse because Bucky knows what it's like to be the center of his attention, and he misses it sometimes, with an ache that reminds him of the phantom pain of his left arm.
He walks into their suite late one afternoon a few weeks after the kissing incident to find Steve at his drawing board and Darcy posing on the couch like the reincarnation of every pinup girl they ever got hot and bothered over back in the war.
Steve looks up and squints at Bucky, then at the clock. "I didn't realize it was so late." He nods at Darcy. "You can move now."
"Oh, thank God," she says, bouncing up off the couch and walking over to Steve to rest her chin on his shoulder to see what he's drawn. "I like it," she announces with a big smile and then glances over at Bucky. "How come you never sit for him?"
Bucky looks down at his metal hand before he can check the impulse and shrugs.
"I've asked, believe me," Steve says. He tilts his head and presses a kiss to Darcy's cheek. "We're going to the movies tonight, if you want to come. They're showing Some Like It Hot at the Film Forum and Thor and I haven't seen it yet."
"Nobody's perfect." She flashes Bucky a wide grin, gives Steve a smacking kiss on his cheek, and saunters out. The two of them stare after her silently for a long moment.
"I didn't think they made 'em like that anymore," Bucky says, torn between admiration and jealousy.
"Yeah, she's a real firecracker," Steve replies, fond smile on his face. "And don't you go getting any ideas, Buck."
"I'm not gonna steal your girl, Steve." He smirks, because it's expected, and it's not as hard as he thought it might be--it's an old habit, and he really does want to see Steve happy, even if it's not with him. "I could, you know. But I'm not gonna."
Steve's smile fades. "She's not my girl, Bucky. She and Clint are together." His hair is falling into his eyes, hiding his expression, and he brushes it away absently. "I thought you knew."
"No," Bucky says. He keeps his smirk pinned in place. "Her loss, then."
Steve turns back to his drawing board. "Yeah." The tight line of his shoulders, tensed for rejection, is familiar enough to make Bucky's chest ache. It's not the first broken heart he's nursed Steve through, though every time, he hopes it'll be the last.
"Come on," he says, clapping Steve on the shoulder. "Let's grab a beer and a burger before the show."
Thor comes with them, and it's hard to stay broody around him, but Bucky's glad that Clint and Darcy have other plans and can't join them at the movie that night.
It's not that Bucky doesn't like Clint. He's an excellent marksman and he's been a good partner to Natasha and a good friend to Steve. Well, okay, maybe he doesn't like Clint, but only because sometimes it feels like Clint's replaced him in their lives, and even Bucky knows how ridiculous it is to feel that way. But even if he grants the man his good points, Bucky still can't imagine anyone choosing him over Steve.
Of course, Bucky can't imagine choosing anyone but Steve, time and time again, so maybe he's not the best judge.
*
Bucky hasn't exactly been Mr. Sociable since SHIELD broke his programming, but he withdraws from the others a little more after that. The only people likely to notice are Natasha and Steve, but Natasha's off in Malaysia on a mission, and Steve's scheduled to within an inch of his life, every hospital and nursing home and youth center clamoring for the time when he's not leading the Avengers or training SHIELD agents. And Bucky has his own work to do, lets himself sink into the silent clarity that comes with orders and distance; everything looks clearer through the scope of his rifle.
After a whirlwind tour of global hotspots on SHIELD's dime, he's tired and wired and cranky. He takes a hot shower, changes into sweats, and is toweling his hair dry when Steve comes in.
"Hey, I didn't know you were coming back today."
Bucky shrugs. "Me neither."
"Tony gave me and Thor tickets to see the Mets-Phillies game tonight at Citi Field. I'm sure there's another ticket, if you're interested."
Bucky feels another pang of nostalgia, and this time the ache is as much for the summer afternoons they'd spent at Ebbets Field as it is for the distance he can feel yawning between them, seventy years of ice and blood they were foolish enough to believe didn't matter.
"No," he says, hiding beneath his towel so Steve can't see the look on his face. "Thanks."
"You sure? It's no problem to ask Tony for another ticket. He's got a whole luxury box." Steve's voice turns cajoling. "I know it's not like sitting out in right field at Ebbets, but it'll be fun."
"Yeah, I'm sure you'll have fun with your new friends, Steve. Just leave me alone. I don't need your pity." He turns and heads back into his bedroom, but Steve is right there behind him, and he still forgets sometimes how strong Steve is, right up until Steve grabs his elbow and whirls him around. He drops the towel.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
Bucky jerks his arm out of Steve's grip and Steve lets him. "I don't think we have enough time for that. I wouldn't want to make you late for the game."
"Bucky." Steve glares at him, an annoyed furrow forming between his eyebrows. "Bucky," he repeats, softer this time, "I know it's hard, feeling out of place here."
"You know that, do you?"
"You know I do."
"It's not the same. You know that, too."
"Bucky." This time it's a plea, not a rebuke, and Bucky can't withstand that. He never could.
"You've got a new life here--a good life. And I'm glad for you. I really am. But I don't fit into it."
Steve huffs softly. "I don't know if you noticed, but this whole tower is basically the island of misfit toys." He looks so proud of himself for making that reference that Bucky smiles in response, and it only hurts a little around the edges.
"Does that make me the abominable snowman?"
Steve actually takes a second to think about it, then says, "I think that's probably Bruce. But you're still my best friend."
"As long as I'm not the elf dentist."
"No, I think that's probably Tony."
"I'm gonna tell him you said that."
Steve laughs. "It's not nearly the worst thing I've called him. To his face, even." He tilts his head, gives Bucky a small, encouraging smile. "Come on, Bucky. Come to the game with me."
Bucky thinks about it for a long moment, thinks about something that shouldn't require a moment's thought, and finally says, "Yeah, all right."
*
The game is more fun than Bucky expected, and though he'd still prefer to be out in the bleachers than up in a luxury box, the box does come with its own bar and wait staff, so they don't have to stand on lines for anything and get stared at, though Thor and Steve attract attention no matter what, and Bucky's not immune to that, either.
He spends a lot of time surreptitiously watching Steve--it's another one of the skills he honed long before the army got ahold of him, but all the spy training has made him even better at it, and he doesn't think Steve notices.
When he's not watching Steve, he's watching Thor, who gets as excited about baseball as he does everything else. He cheers when Wright hits a home run and roars to his feet on a close play at the plate and yells as loudly as the home crowd when Tejada is called out even though he was safe.
This time, Bucky catches Steve's eye, nods his chin at Thor, and grins. Steve grins back, and Bucky thinks maybe there's a place for him here after all. It might not be the one he really wants, but he can live with that.
"See," Steve says, at the end of the game, when they're contentedly full of beer and hot dogs and Steve's face is slightly sunburned (which will fade by the time they get home), "some things haven't changed all that much." He catches and holds Bucky's gaze, and Bucky feels like all Steve's attention is on him--it's like the sun coming out after a long dark winter. It makes the ride back into the city go quickly, and Thor enthusing about the variety of food available at the ballpark and the Mets' mighty prowess with the bat even more amusing than usual.
Back at the tower, Bucky kicks off his shoes and starts stripping. His t-shirt is on the floor and he's working on undoing the buttons on his fly when he notices Steve has stopped and is staring at him.
"What?"
"Nothing, I just--" Steve shakes his head. "Nothing."
"Okay."
"Don't leave your shoes in the doorway," Steve says, turning away, the nape of his neck red. "Someone might trip over them."
Bucky walks back, bends over, and picks up his shoes. "That sunburn bothering you?"
Steve looks confused when he turns around to face Bucky again. "It's fine."
Bucky tosses his shoes into his bedroom and walks over to where Steve is still standing, strange expression on his face. Bucky reaches up (up, and that still gives him a small thrill he'll never admit to), and brushes his thumb over the arch of Steve's cheek, which is, unexpectedly, still red.
Steve wraps his fingers around Bucky's wrist but doesn't push it away. "Bucky."
"I think we got some aloe in the medicine chest," Bucky says, trying to sound normal and failing completely.
Steve turns his face to press a kiss to the palm of Bucky's hand, sending heat shivering through him. "I don't need any damn aloe." His voice is low and rough.
"Okay." It's barely a whisper. Bucky holds himself very still, poised to bolt if Steve lets him go, but ready to lean in if Steve wants him to.
"You've been kind of a jerk lately," Steve says, still in that low, rough voice. "I think I finally figured out why."
"Yeah?" Bucky answers. "Took you long enough."
"Yeah. You weren't very stealthy at the game today."
"I wasn't?"
"No. It's not Darcy you're sweet on."
"No, it's not."
Steve smiles. "Me, neither."
Bucky huffs in mock exasperation. "It's a good thing you're pretty."
Steve's other hand comes up to cup Bucky's cheek and tilt his face up. "If you're the brains of this operation, no wonder it took so long to get off the ground."
Bucky's laugh is cut off by Steve's kiss. Bucky sighs against his lips and opens his mouth to Steve's seeking tongue; he tastes of beer and hot dogs, and feels like coming home, like it's the two of them against the world again, ready to take on all comers with nothing but their fists and their dubious charm. It's everything he's ever wanted and better than he ever dared hope for.
"Come on," he says, tugging Steve towards his bedroom by his belt loops; they stumble over the shoes in the doorway, but since they land on the bed, legs and lips tangled together, Bucky doesn't care. "We've got a lot of catching up to do."
end
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