fic: break loose of loss and longing (Captain America; Steve/Bucky; pg)
break loose of loss and longing
Captain America; Steve/Bucky; pg; 3,510 words
"What do you think of the speculation that you and Steve Rogers were lovers?"
"What? Who thinks that? I don't think about that. Why would I think about that?"
Or read it at AO3.
~*~
break loose of loss and longing
Bucky's getting better. He'll never be who he was before the war, but then, neither will Steve. Steve and Sam and his therapist have told him over and over again: nobody who goes to war comes home the same. Bucky's crucible was just longer and more horrifying than most.
He still crawls into Steve's bed after nightmares three nights out of five, and he still has bad days where he sits in the dark by himself because the thought of being around anyone--even Steve--is like jackhammers in his skull and shattered glass under his skin. But the good days are starting to outnumber the bad ones, and even he can see that he's making progress.
He's well enough, in fact, that after a few months of living in Stark's tower, he begins to join the Avengers on missions, especially when Hawkeye's unavailable to be eyes up high. But Bucky's not just a sniper; he's a one-man wrecking crew when he needs to be, and maybe that's not worth a lot against planet-eating monsters from space (Bucky's not getting over fighting against--and with--honest-to-god aliens any time soon), but versus Hydra or AIM or garden-variety thugs, he's as valuable to the Avengers as he was to the Howling Commandos during the war.
His presence on the team draws questions, of course. They all find it amusing at first. The day after he's first spotted on the ground, punching Doombots with his metal arm, the headline of The Daily Bugle reads, Who Was That Masked Man? Steve and Bucky are both tickled by that.
"We used to listen to The Lone Ranger on the radio," Bucky tells Sam. "And read the books. It was a book before it was a radio show, I think. Had those out of the library every damn week almost, one summer."
"There was a new movie a couple of years ago," Steve offers, but Sam shakes his head.
"It's a travesty. Please don't see it and judge all future movies by it."
Bucky laughs. There's so much other stuff to catch up on that they can afford to pass it by. Apparently Bucky's not the only one whose future makeover wasn't so pretty.
*
Of course, the headlines--and the questions--don't stay so benign for long. Especially once someone matches the metal arm to the images from DC. Still, Bucky's stealthy enough to avoid talking to reporters and nobody is crazy enough to send him to meet the press after the Avengers fight. But he does occasionally get caught on film unexpectedly, like a starlet being ambushed on the beach, except with more carnage and fewer tits.
Bucky looks at the credit on the picture: one P. Parker. "I'm gonna kill him," he says. He thinks he gets the tone right--more joking than angry. He thinks he sounds a lot like his old self.
"You can't kill the photographer," Steve says mildly, because he knows--Bucky hopes he knows--that Bucky's just letting off steam and not really going to kill anybody just for taking his picture.
Natasha nods. "It's too late anyway. Even Jarvis couldn't scrub all the images off the internet. No offense, Jarvis."
"None taken, Ms. Romanoff."
"Leave it to me," Pepper says, so they do.
Which is how Bucky ends up sitting down for an extensive interview with Christine Everhart of Vanity Fair.
"She's an excellent reporter," Pepper says when she gives them the news. "And we're not particularly friendly, so it doesn't look like you're playing favorites."
"And I'll be with you," Steve says.
Pepper looks at him and purses her lips. Then she shakes her head. "No, I don't think so. I'll be there, though. I'll clear my schedule."
Steve pouts, and Bucky would like him to be there, but like the nuns from their grammar school days, Pepper is apparently immune to their wiles, because even though Steve is with them while they rehearse answers, when the day of the interview comes, she shoos Steve out of the conference room before Everhart even shows.
"She'd eat him alive," Natasha agrees from her seat at the far end of the table. "James."
Bucky acts like he knows she was there all along and tips his head in her direction. "Natasha."
Before Pepper can decide to throw her out too, Everhart arrives. "Was that Captain America on the way out?"
"You're not here to interview Captain America," Pepper says. She sits like she's got a steel rod grafted to her spine. Again, Bucky thinks briefly of the nuns at St. Cecilia's, and how they would have loved Pepper.
"It's good to see you, too," Everhart says, and that gets a small smile out of Pepper.
"You've met Natasha," Pepper says, and the women nod coolly at each other, "and this is James Barnes."
Bucky puts a cocky grin on his face and sticks out his right hand. "Nice to meetcha." He wishes men still wore hats, so he could tip one rakishly at her.
She's got a nice firm grip, but her gaze stays on his face, eyes narrowing like she's the infamous sniper and he's her target. "James Barnes," she repeats slowly, thoughtfully. "Middle name, 'Buchanan?'"
He keeps the cocky grin in place but it's an effort. "Got it in one."
Everhart's smile goes from polite and professional to sharp and smug; she looks like a shark that's just scented blood in the water. "Interesting. Let's get started."
She doesn't go easy on him. There are no softball questions about his favorite music or what it's like to wake up in the future, and he's glad Pepper and Natasha prepped him as if he were going to face a hostile interrogation. He has an answer for everything she asks (though maybe not any answers she wants to hear), until the end, when she says, "What do you think of the speculation that you and Steve Rogers, you and Captain America," she emphasizes it, like he doesn't know who Steve is, "were lovers?"
"What?" Bucky asks, startled out of his charming, scripted answers. Shit. Are they onto him? He struggles to keeps his face neutral, to go into damage control mode, but the words tumble out of his mouth of their own accord. "Who thinks that? I don't think about that. Why would I think about that?" Pepper's heel comes down on his toes and he shuts up with a gulp of pain and a forced smile.
"I think that's enough," Pepper says.
"Of course," Everhart answers, and Bucky thinks he's home free until she says, "The photographer is waiting on the roof."
Having his picture taken is horrible in a whole different way. There are flashing lights and bright steady lights and some jackass with a camera trying to get him to smile. He bares his teeth, anyway. He wonders how Steve stood it, all those years ago, and it's only the thought of Steve's disappointment if he actually kills the photographer that keeps him there, though it doesn't stop him from glaring at the camera the whole time.
Once it's over, Bucky slumps to the ground. "HYDRA could have used them as an interrogation team," he mutters.
"She's not a bad guy," Pepper says. "Well, she's mostly ethical."
Bucky looks up at that. "Only mostly?"
Natasha gives him an imperceptible shake of her head and holds out a bottle of water to him, so he drops it, asking instead, "People really think Steve and I are--together?"
"Is that a problem?" Pepper asks pleasantly.
The hair on the back of his neck prickles and he glances at Natasha, but there's no help from that quarter--she gives him a dangerously sharp smile. He chooses his answer as carefully as if it were actually part of the interview. "It is if Steve wants to go out on a date." He's desperate to escape before Natasha starts in on him too, so he gets up and heads for the door before either of them can respond, saying. "Gotta go meet him for dinner." And then, halfway in the door, because his mother raised him to be polite, he says, "Thanks again for all your help."
He tries not to think of it as he sits across from Steve in the diner, their knees bumping under the table as they eat their fries, and he absolutely does not tell Steve when he asks how the interview went.
Of course, now that it's been mentioned, he can't stop thinking about it. Lord knows, he's tried. He managed to hide it in the forties, but that was only because he knew Steve wasn't into guys, wasn't bent like he was. It was a little easier after Zola--everything he felt was muted in the aftermath, and by the time he'd recovered a little, he'd seen how it was with Steve and Peggy, and how it was, was good. Peggy had known Steve when he was still skinny, had seen what Bucky'd always known, and no one else but him and Steve's ma had ever believed. And that made her okay in Bucky's book, especially since he knew Steve was never gonna look at him with hearts in his eyes.
Now, though, when it's okay for two guys or two girls to be together and people who don't like it are considered the ones who are wrong; now, when he spends as much time crawling into Steve's bed in the middle of the night as he did in 1938; now, it's much more difficult.
(And though he knows Steve would argue, the truth is, even in those days, it was always Bucky who needed comfort, who needed to press close to make sure every shaky breath Steve took was followed by another one, that his heart, the greatest heart anyone'd ever had, for all that it didn't beat quite regular, kept beating its idiosyncratic beat. Now, he needs to know that Steve is real, that he's not having some kind of cryostasis dream--not that he remembers dreaming in the tank--and that he's not HYDRA's automaton anymore, not a weapon without a mind or will of his own.)
Now, though, Steve grins at Bucky like he's the best thing he's ever seen, and Bucky basks in it, the way he always had, even though he knows he doesn't deserve it, and never did.
No, Bucky's not going to admit to ever thinking about it, not unless Steve's the one who asks. And maybe not even then.
*
Bucky tries to forget the subject ever came up, but that's impossible when Steve clings to him every night like he's Steve's long-lost teddy bear, his head tucked under Bucky's chin like he's still small enough to fit there without folding almost in half, and Bucky can't--won't--push him away.
Bucky sleeps better for it (without Steve there, he doesn't sleep at all), but as his body's healed over the past few months without the drugs, the tank, or the chair keeping him docile, he starts waking up hard and aching, pressed so tightly to Steve that he can barely tell where he ends and Steve begins.
Steve notices--there's no way he could not--but aside from the faint wash of pink in his cheeks and the vaguely awkward way he stumbles to the bathroom when he gets up, it's like it never happened. They don't talk about it. Bucky's pretty sure even if he wasn't still a bit of a mess in the head, they wouldn't talk about it; they never did before, and he knows it's not the first time it's happened. Still, he marshals his excuses--autonomic responses, super soldier metabolism, dreams of Betty Grable--just in case.
Hydra is still out there, AIM has resurfaced, and now they've produced a splinter group calling itself RAID that manages to combine the worst of both organizations in one set of fanatical scientist-soldiers. They all still want to get their hands on Steve, Bucky, and the serum, and that keeps the Avengers busy enough that Bucky can forget about the interview for whole hours at a time. After all, he never really answered that last question, so he can't imagine Everhart actually using it in her article.
It's not the only time his imagination has failed.
He's cleaning his guns in Steve's kitchen when Steve walks in with a magazine.
"Is that the advance copy?" Bucky asks.
"Yeah." Steve holds it out to him and he can see his face on the cover, dressed and primped like some kind of movie star. "You look good, Buck."
Bucky grunts noncommittally. He'd been vain, once, about his appearance, hair always neatly trimmed and slicked back, and what little extra money he hadn't spent on Steve had gone into secondhand suits to go out dancing in. Now, he's as sloppy as everyone else in this modern age, wearing jeans and t-shirts and his hair pulled back into a sloppy bun, because even with all the progress he's made, he still doesn't trust anyone (not even Steve) with scissors near his head. (Thor braided it for him once, which is an experience he still hasn't fully processed, but nobody got injured, so they all counted it as a win.) He trims the ends every few weeks so it doesn't get completely out of control, but otherwise, he's invested in several cards' worth of black hair bands, because they have a habit of disappearing just when he needs them the most.
"Can I read it?"
Bucky puts down his rag and gives Steve a long, puzzled look. "Yeah, of course." He picks up the rag again and turns back to his guns with a soft laugh. "You were there when we went over most of the answers."
"Yeah," Steve says, and heads into the living room to read.
Bucky likes cleaning his weapons. It makes him feel safe and useful and in control, and if he keeps a few more around than most people would consider normal, he's not the only one in the Tower who does. It's a routine task, one he can do on autopilot, and it empties his mind much more thoroughly than Bruce's meditation techniques. (Bucky usually falls asleep when he tries to meditate with Bruce, which doesn't always have the best results.) So he's zoned out and not really prepared when Steve comes back in a while later and says, "You never thought about it, huh?"
Bucky blinks up at him in confusion and Steve hands him the magazine, open to the interview. And there, in black and white, is his fumbling answer to that damn question. Klaxons go off in his head, ruining his mellow mood. His whole body tenses, sensing dangerous territory ahead.
"No, I never thought about it," he answers quickly, his voice a little higher pitched than usual. "Why would I think about it?"
"Ha," Steve says, but it's not a laugh. It's also not a sound Bucky likes hearing Steve make, though it happens far less often now than it did when they were younger. Steve looks down at the magazine in his hands and says, "No reason. No reason at all." He drops the magazine on the table, still open to that stupid page.
"Hey," Bucky says, because even after everything, he still knows Steve down in his bones, can still read him like a book, and that bitterness is old, too, older than the serum and Captain America, and Bucky's always hated it. "You were always a catch. It was just those girls were too dumb to know it."
"Don't," Steve says, his voice low and hard, and this is familiar, as well, a conversation that played out between them repeatedly long before they ever thought of going to war. "Don't lie to me, Bucky." He walks away before Bucky can formulate an answer.
Bucky feels the weight of his lie in his chest, in the shocking sting behind his eyes, because hurting Steve is the one thing he never wants to do again. He puts his guns away, grabs the magazine, and goes looking for Steve. He finds him down in the gym, pummeling a heavy bag. He takes a few moments to admire the breadth of Steve's shoulders, the way they narrow to his slim hips, the firm curve of his ass as he twists and flexes.
"Come on, Rogers, what'd that poor thing ever do to you?"
Steve gives him an exasperated look but stops swinging. "Can I help you?" he asks sharply.
Bucky takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. He doesn't think Steve will ditch him--after all, Steve's stuck by him through the whole brainwashed HYDRA assassin thing, which is way worse than the 'I've been in love with you since 1936' thing, right? But the words stick in his throat. He used to be glib, silver-tongued, and now he can't figure out how to say what might be the most important thing he's ever said. He opens and closes his mouth, then licks his lips, buying time.
"Buck?"
"You're right, I was lying," he says. Steve's mouth twists, but Bucky goes on before he can speak. "Not about you being a catch. You've always been the best man I've ever known." He holds out the magazine. The interview wasn't bad--it didn't sound so stilted in writing, and Everhart didn't do a hatchet job on him--but seeing that lie in black and white made it hurt more, and not just because it'd hurt Steve, too. "I lied when I said I never thought about it. I know things are different now, and being queer ain't illegal, but I also know you don't wanna hear that I've had a thing for you since we were teenagers, and even if you did, it ain't nobody's business but ours."
"A thing?" Steve says incredulously. "Is that what you're calling it?"
"All right," Bucky answers, spreading his hands wide. "Get all your shots in now so we never have to talk about this again."
"You are an idiot," Steve says, emphasizing each word individually. He reaches out a hand, curls his taped fingers in Bucky's t-shirt, and tugs.
Bucky stumbles toward him--otherwise, the shirt will rip and he likes this one; it's soft and gray and nearly transparent. "What are you doing?" His question is cut off by Steve's mouth, which is warm and wet over his. Steve smells like sweat and he tastes like stale coffee, and Bucky thinks he must be dreaming because Steve's tongue is in his mouth. His heart hammers in his chest like it's trying to escape, and he goes a little lightheaded, because actually kissing Steve is so much better than anything he'd ever imagined, and he'd imagined a lot.
They break the kiss, panting into each other's mouths, and Steve presses their foreheads together, his hand large and warm on the nape of Bucky's neck.
Bucky opens his eyes to find Steve looking at him with the softest, sappiest expression he's ever seen on his face, his eyes bright and lips slick and pink. "Oh."
"Yeah, oh." Steve laughs softly. "I've wanted to do that since 1933."
Bucky grins and says, "Me, too," before leaning in for another kiss.
*
When the interview finally hits the newsstands, there's an increased flurry of interest in Bucky, and by extension, Steve, who issues a statement fully supporting Bucky's freedom, his place on the Avengers, and his presence in Steve's life. That fuels more speculation on the talk shows and celebrity gossip blogs, but Bucky refuses all invitations to go on television and tell his story again.
There's a firestorm in the conservative media, of course, because they can't decide if Bucky is a hero or a traitor, but as long as they don't call Steve's loyalty or sacrifice into question, Bucky shrugs it off. Most of the time, he can't figure it out either. Steve still thinks he's a hero though, and says so, publicly and privately. It makes Bucky flush just thinking about it sometimes.
And after a brief, stupidly embarrassing conversation with Pepper, who smiles smugly and hums in agreement with his plan, he writes a letter to Vanity Fair that gets published in the next issue.
I wanted to clarify one point of my interview with Ms. Everhart, the letter reads. While Captain Rogers and I have been best friends since 1925, we did not become a couple until recently. But my answer to the question was untrue. I did think about it. I thought about it a lot, and I finally did something about it, because of this interview. Captain Rogers and I are both very happy, and grateful to Ms. Everhart for her time.
Sincerely,
James Buchanan Barnes
Steve buys a copy of the magazine, cuts the letter out, and sticks it on the refrigerator with a magnet that looks like his shield. "It's nice to actually have it in writing," he says.
Bucky laughs and kisses him.
end
~*~
Notes: An expansion of this not-fic. Title from Bodhisattva by Cassandra Labairon.
~*~
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~*~
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Captain America; Steve/Bucky; pg; 3,510 words
"What do you think of the speculation that you and Steve Rogers were lovers?"
"What? Who thinks that? I don't think about that. Why would I think about that?"
Or read it at AO3.
~*~
break loose of loss and longing
Bucky's getting better. He'll never be who he was before the war, but then, neither will Steve. Steve and Sam and his therapist have told him over and over again: nobody who goes to war comes home the same. Bucky's crucible was just longer and more horrifying than most.
He still crawls into Steve's bed after nightmares three nights out of five, and he still has bad days where he sits in the dark by himself because the thought of being around anyone--even Steve--is like jackhammers in his skull and shattered glass under his skin. But the good days are starting to outnumber the bad ones, and even he can see that he's making progress.
He's well enough, in fact, that after a few months of living in Stark's tower, he begins to join the Avengers on missions, especially when Hawkeye's unavailable to be eyes up high. But Bucky's not just a sniper; he's a one-man wrecking crew when he needs to be, and maybe that's not worth a lot against planet-eating monsters from space (Bucky's not getting over fighting against--and with--honest-to-god aliens any time soon), but versus Hydra or AIM or garden-variety thugs, he's as valuable to the Avengers as he was to the Howling Commandos during the war.
His presence on the team draws questions, of course. They all find it amusing at first. The day after he's first spotted on the ground, punching Doombots with his metal arm, the headline of The Daily Bugle reads, Who Was That Masked Man? Steve and Bucky are both tickled by that.
"We used to listen to The Lone Ranger on the radio," Bucky tells Sam. "And read the books. It was a book before it was a radio show, I think. Had those out of the library every damn week almost, one summer."
"There was a new movie a couple of years ago," Steve offers, but Sam shakes his head.
"It's a travesty. Please don't see it and judge all future movies by it."
Bucky laughs. There's so much other stuff to catch up on that they can afford to pass it by. Apparently Bucky's not the only one whose future makeover wasn't so pretty.
*
Of course, the headlines--and the questions--don't stay so benign for long. Especially once someone matches the metal arm to the images from DC. Still, Bucky's stealthy enough to avoid talking to reporters and nobody is crazy enough to send him to meet the press after the Avengers fight. But he does occasionally get caught on film unexpectedly, like a starlet being ambushed on the beach, except with more carnage and fewer tits.
Bucky looks at the credit on the picture: one P. Parker. "I'm gonna kill him," he says. He thinks he gets the tone right--more joking than angry. He thinks he sounds a lot like his old self.
"You can't kill the photographer," Steve says mildly, because he knows--Bucky hopes he knows--that Bucky's just letting off steam and not really going to kill anybody just for taking his picture.
Natasha nods. "It's too late anyway. Even Jarvis couldn't scrub all the images off the internet. No offense, Jarvis."
"None taken, Ms. Romanoff."
"Leave it to me," Pepper says, so they do.
Which is how Bucky ends up sitting down for an extensive interview with Christine Everhart of Vanity Fair.
"She's an excellent reporter," Pepper says when she gives them the news. "And we're not particularly friendly, so it doesn't look like you're playing favorites."
"And I'll be with you," Steve says.
Pepper looks at him and purses her lips. Then she shakes her head. "No, I don't think so. I'll be there, though. I'll clear my schedule."
Steve pouts, and Bucky would like him to be there, but like the nuns from their grammar school days, Pepper is apparently immune to their wiles, because even though Steve is with them while they rehearse answers, when the day of the interview comes, she shoos Steve out of the conference room before Everhart even shows.
"She'd eat him alive," Natasha agrees from her seat at the far end of the table. "James."
Bucky acts like he knows she was there all along and tips his head in her direction. "Natasha."
Before Pepper can decide to throw her out too, Everhart arrives. "Was that Captain America on the way out?"
"You're not here to interview Captain America," Pepper says. She sits like she's got a steel rod grafted to her spine. Again, Bucky thinks briefly of the nuns at St. Cecilia's, and how they would have loved Pepper.
"It's good to see you, too," Everhart says, and that gets a small smile out of Pepper.
"You've met Natasha," Pepper says, and the women nod coolly at each other, "and this is James Barnes."
Bucky puts a cocky grin on his face and sticks out his right hand. "Nice to meetcha." He wishes men still wore hats, so he could tip one rakishly at her.
She's got a nice firm grip, but her gaze stays on his face, eyes narrowing like she's the infamous sniper and he's her target. "James Barnes," she repeats slowly, thoughtfully. "Middle name, 'Buchanan?'"
He keeps the cocky grin in place but it's an effort. "Got it in one."
Everhart's smile goes from polite and professional to sharp and smug; she looks like a shark that's just scented blood in the water. "Interesting. Let's get started."
She doesn't go easy on him. There are no softball questions about his favorite music or what it's like to wake up in the future, and he's glad Pepper and Natasha prepped him as if he were going to face a hostile interrogation. He has an answer for everything she asks (though maybe not any answers she wants to hear), until the end, when she says, "What do you think of the speculation that you and Steve Rogers, you and Captain America," she emphasizes it, like he doesn't know who Steve is, "were lovers?"
"What?" Bucky asks, startled out of his charming, scripted answers. Shit. Are they onto him? He struggles to keeps his face neutral, to go into damage control mode, but the words tumble out of his mouth of their own accord. "Who thinks that? I don't think about that. Why would I think about that?" Pepper's heel comes down on his toes and he shuts up with a gulp of pain and a forced smile.
"I think that's enough," Pepper says.
"Of course," Everhart answers, and Bucky thinks he's home free until she says, "The photographer is waiting on the roof."
Having his picture taken is horrible in a whole different way. There are flashing lights and bright steady lights and some jackass with a camera trying to get him to smile. He bares his teeth, anyway. He wonders how Steve stood it, all those years ago, and it's only the thought of Steve's disappointment if he actually kills the photographer that keeps him there, though it doesn't stop him from glaring at the camera the whole time.
Once it's over, Bucky slumps to the ground. "HYDRA could have used them as an interrogation team," he mutters.
"She's not a bad guy," Pepper says. "Well, she's mostly ethical."
Bucky looks up at that. "Only mostly?"
Natasha gives him an imperceptible shake of her head and holds out a bottle of water to him, so he drops it, asking instead, "People really think Steve and I are--together?"
"Is that a problem?" Pepper asks pleasantly.
The hair on the back of his neck prickles and he glances at Natasha, but there's no help from that quarter--she gives him a dangerously sharp smile. He chooses his answer as carefully as if it were actually part of the interview. "It is if Steve wants to go out on a date." He's desperate to escape before Natasha starts in on him too, so he gets up and heads for the door before either of them can respond, saying. "Gotta go meet him for dinner." And then, halfway in the door, because his mother raised him to be polite, he says, "Thanks again for all your help."
He tries not to think of it as he sits across from Steve in the diner, their knees bumping under the table as they eat their fries, and he absolutely does not tell Steve when he asks how the interview went.
Of course, now that it's been mentioned, he can't stop thinking about it. Lord knows, he's tried. He managed to hide it in the forties, but that was only because he knew Steve wasn't into guys, wasn't bent like he was. It was a little easier after Zola--everything he felt was muted in the aftermath, and by the time he'd recovered a little, he'd seen how it was with Steve and Peggy, and how it was, was good. Peggy had known Steve when he was still skinny, had seen what Bucky'd always known, and no one else but him and Steve's ma had ever believed. And that made her okay in Bucky's book, especially since he knew Steve was never gonna look at him with hearts in his eyes.
Now, though, when it's okay for two guys or two girls to be together and people who don't like it are considered the ones who are wrong; now, when he spends as much time crawling into Steve's bed in the middle of the night as he did in 1938; now, it's much more difficult.
(And though he knows Steve would argue, the truth is, even in those days, it was always Bucky who needed comfort, who needed to press close to make sure every shaky breath Steve took was followed by another one, that his heart, the greatest heart anyone'd ever had, for all that it didn't beat quite regular, kept beating its idiosyncratic beat. Now, he needs to know that Steve is real, that he's not having some kind of cryostasis dream--not that he remembers dreaming in the tank--and that he's not HYDRA's automaton anymore, not a weapon without a mind or will of his own.)
Now, though, Steve grins at Bucky like he's the best thing he's ever seen, and Bucky basks in it, the way he always had, even though he knows he doesn't deserve it, and never did.
No, Bucky's not going to admit to ever thinking about it, not unless Steve's the one who asks. And maybe not even then.
*
Bucky tries to forget the subject ever came up, but that's impossible when Steve clings to him every night like he's Steve's long-lost teddy bear, his head tucked under Bucky's chin like he's still small enough to fit there without folding almost in half, and Bucky can't--won't--push him away.
Bucky sleeps better for it (without Steve there, he doesn't sleep at all), but as his body's healed over the past few months without the drugs, the tank, or the chair keeping him docile, he starts waking up hard and aching, pressed so tightly to Steve that he can barely tell where he ends and Steve begins.
Steve notices--there's no way he could not--but aside from the faint wash of pink in his cheeks and the vaguely awkward way he stumbles to the bathroom when he gets up, it's like it never happened. They don't talk about it. Bucky's pretty sure even if he wasn't still a bit of a mess in the head, they wouldn't talk about it; they never did before, and he knows it's not the first time it's happened. Still, he marshals his excuses--autonomic responses, super soldier metabolism, dreams of Betty Grable--just in case.
Hydra is still out there, AIM has resurfaced, and now they've produced a splinter group calling itself RAID that manages to combine the worst of both organizations in one set of fanatical scientist-soldiers. They all still want to get their hands on Steve, Bucky, and the serum, and that keeps the Avengers busy enough that Bucky can forget about the interview for whole hours at a time. After all, he never really answered that last question, so he can't imagine Everhart actually using it in her article.
It's not the only time his imagination has failed.
He's cleaning his guns in Steve's kitchen when Steve walks in with a magazine.
"Is that the advance copy?" Bucky asks.
"Yeah." Steve holds it out to him and he can see his face on the cover, dressed and primped like some kind of movie star. "You look good, Buck."
Bucky grunts noncommittally. He'd been vain, once, about his appearance, hair always neatly trimmed and slicked back, and what little extra money he hadn't spent on Steve had gone into secondhand suits to go out dancing in. Now, he's as sloppy as everyone else in this modern age, wearing jeans and t-shirts and his hair pulled back into a sloppy bun, because even with all the progress he's made, he still doesn't trust anyone (not even Steve) with scissors near his head. (Thor braided it for him once, which is an experience he still hasn't fully processed, but nobody got injured, so they all counted it as a win.) He trims the ends every few weeks so it doesn't get completely out of control, but otherwise, he's invested in several cards' worth of black hair bands, because they have a habit of disappearing just when he needs them the most.
"Can I read it?"
Bucky puts down his rag and gives Steve a long, puzzled look. "Yeah, of course." He picks up the rag again and turns back to his guns with a soft laugh. "You were there when we went over most of the answers."
"Yeah," Steve says, and heads into the living room to read.
Bucky likes cleaning his weapons. It makes him feel safe and useful and in control, and if he keeps a few more around than most people would consider normal, he's not the only one in the Tower who does. It's a routine task, one he can do on autopilot, and it empties his mind much more thoroughly than Bruce's meditation techniques. (Bucky usually falls asleep when he tries to meditate with Bruce, which doesn't always have the best results.) So he's zoned out and not really prepared when Steve comes back in a while later and says, "You never thought about it, huh?"
Bucky blinks up at him in confusion and Steve hands him the magazine, open to the interview. And there, in black and white, is his fumbling answer to that damn question. Klaxons go off in his head, ruining his mellow mood. His whole body tenses, sensing dangerous territory ahead.
"No, I never thought about it," he answers quickly, his voice a little higher pitched than usual. "Why would I think about it?"
"Ha," Steve says, but it's not a laugh. It's also not a sound Bucky likes hearing Steve make, though it happens far less often now than it did when they were younger. Steve looks down at the magazine in his hands and says, "No reason. No reason at all." He drops the magazine on the table, still open to that stupid page.
"Hey," Bucky says, because even after everything, he still knows Steve down in his bones, can still read him like a book, and that bitterness is old, too, older than the serum and Captain America, and Bucky's always hated it. "You were always a catch. It was just those girls were too dumb to know it."
"Don't," Steve says, his voice low and hard, and this is familiar, as well, a conversation that played out between them repeatedly long before they ever thought of going to war. "Don't lie to me, Bucky." He walks away before Bucky can formulate an answer.
Bucky feels the weight of his lie in his chest, in the shocking sting behind his eyes, because hurting Steve is the one thing he never wants to do again. He puts his guns away, grabs the magazine, and goes looking for Steve. He finds him down in the gym, pummeling a heavy bag. He takes a few moments to admire the breadth of Steve's shoulders, the way they narrow to his slim hips, the firm curve of his ass as he twists and flexes.
"Come on, Rogers, what'd that poor thing ever do to you?"
Steve gives him an exasperated look but stops swinging. "Can I help you?" he asks sharply.
Bucky takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. He doesn't think Steve will ditch him--after all, Steve's stuck by him through the whole brainwashed HYDRA assassin thing, which is way worse than the 'I've been in love with you since 1936' thing, right? But the words stick in his throat. He used to be glib, silver-tongued, and now he can't figure out how to say what might be the most important thing he's ever said. He opens and closes his mouth, then licks his lips, buying time.
"Buck?"
"You're right, I was lying," he says. Steve's mouth twists, but Bucky goes on before he can speak. "Not about you being a catch. You've always been the best man I've ever known." He holds out the magazine. The interview wasn't bad--it didn't sound so stilted in writing, and Everhart didn't do a hatchet job on him--but seeing that lie in black and white made it hurt more, and not just because it'd hurt Steve, too. "I lied when I said I never thought about it. I know things are different now, and being queer ain't illegal, but I also know you don't wanna hear that I've had a thing for you since we were teenagers, and even if you did, it ain't nobody's business but ours."
"A thing?" Steve says incredulously. "Is that what you're calling it?"
"All right," Bucky answers, spreading his hands wide. "Get all your shots in now so we never have to talk about this again."
"You are an idiot," Steve says, emphasizing each word individually. He reaches out a hand, curls his taped fingers in Bucky's t-shirt, and tugs.
Bucky stumbles toward him--otherwise, the shirt will rip and he likes this one; it's soft and gray and nearly transparent. "What are you doing?" His question is cut off by Steve's mouth, which is warm and wet over his. Steve smells like sweat and he tastes like stale coffee, and Bucky thinks he must be dreaming because Steve's tongue is in his mouth. His heart hammers in his chest like it's trying to escape, and he goes a little lightheaded, because actually kissing Steve is so much better than anything he'd ever imagined, and he'd imagined a lot.
They break the kiss, panting into each other's mouths, and Steve presses their foreheads together, his hand large and warm on the nape of Bucky's neck.
Bucky opens his eyes to find Steve looking at him with the softest, sappiest expression he's ever seen on his face, his eyes bright and lips slick and pink. "Oh."
"Yeah, oh." Steve laughs softly. "I've wanted to do that since 1933."
Bucky grins and says, "Me, too," before leaning in for another kiss.
*
When the interview finally hits the newsstands, there's an increased flurry of interest in Bucky, and by extension, Steve, who issues a statement fully supporting Bucky's freedom, his place on the Avengers, and his presence in Steve's life. That fuels more speculation on the talk shows and celebrity gossip blogs, but Bucky refuses all invitations to go on television and tell his story again.
There's a firestorm in the conservative media, of course, because they can't decide if Bucky is a hero or a traitor, but as long as they don't call Steve's loyalty or sacrifice into question, Bucky shrugs it off. Most of the time, he can't figure it out either. Steve still thinks he's a hero though, and says so, publicly and privately. It makes Bucky flush just thinking about it sometimes.
And after a brief, stupidly embarrassing conversation with Pepper, who smiles smugly and hums in agreement with his plan, he writes a letter to Vanity Fair that gets published in the next issue.
I wanted to clarify one point of my interview with Ms. Everhart, the letter reads. While Captain Rogers and I have been best friends since 1925, we did not become a couple until recently. But my answer to the question was untrue. I did think about it. I thought about it a lot, and I finally did something about it, because of this interview. Captain Rogers and I are both very happy, and grateful to Ms. Everhart for her time.
Sincerely,
James Buchanan Barnes
Steve buys a copy of the magazine, cuts the letter out, and sticks it on the refrigerator with a magnet that looks like his shield. "It's nice to actually have it in writing," he says.
Bucky laughs and kisses him.
end
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Notes: An expansion of this not-fic. Title from Bodhisattva by Cassandra Labairon.
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