[Fic/Marvel movie!verse] Shifting Dynamics -- Cohesion {2/4}

[chibimono]

Part 1 <-- || Fic masterpost || --> Part 3


Shifting Dynamics:
Cohesion
by Chibimono Akuno

Steve had to keep the volume muted, unable to handle the sound as well as the sight of Bucky strapped to a medical bed, drugged and reciting his name, rank, and serial. He could close his eyes to the image, pretend he wasn't there, that he had imagined the frantic man with Bucky's face. But he couldn't bring himself to listen to him, the low rumble that reminded him of hot Brooklyn summers sitting on rusted fire escapes, of cold New York winters huddled together under a pile of clothes and afghans, of furtive kisses in a dark alley and sharing pleasure on the bedroom floor or in a closet, as far from prying eyes as they could get.

He knew the cadence and timbre of that voice, those words especially--name, rank, serial--from Bucky mumbling in his sleep after his capture by HYDRA. It dug up memories of air scented with gunpowder and the tang of blood, the vacuum squelch of mud under his boots, sharp, bitter winters and heavy, humid summers. He could close his eyes and just the sound of Bucky's voice could take him back, back to the trenches and the Howling Commandos and War.

Tracing the lines of Bucky's body, the screen brought touch functions up to the forefront, obscuring some of the color image with play, pause, and volume options. So strange, seeing Bucky in moving color on a screen in his hands, when the last time they were... alive together, they would have been in black & white on newsreels.

So much was different, and Steve was used to thinking he was all alone in this. Sure, Thor was learning the world along with Steve, but Thor was more like a foreigner in all this. Steve knew this world, but it felt like he was left behind, like someone moved in and changed it all while he was out of town. It made him ache and despair, until Tony wedged himself into Steve's life. But Thor and Tony didn't understand it, the lost feeling of something that used to be just there and, ah, it's gone.

Now, Bucky was here, and Bucky would know exactly what he was feeling because Bucky had been there with Steve. Even when he shouldn't have been, Bucky was there; all the way up until he was gone, ripped away with no time for a goodbye.

"Heya, jerk..." Steve whispered in the silence, wishing Bucky could hear him. He'd have to wait to say it for the ears they were meant for, still sixty-four hours to go.

The ache in his chest weighed heavier with each second ticking by on the streaming feed, watching Bucky sleep fitfully or thrash frantically against his bindings. As a medical team edged into the room and circled Bucky with syringes and latex gloves, Steve turned off the tablet and pushed it away. He grit his teeth against the shout of leave him alone! and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes to stave off the sting of moisture. Taking a deep breath and hoping for calm, Steve curled upon his side, grabbing Tony's pillow to hold against his chest, tucking his face against it to breath in Tony.

Just as he had done with Bucky's pillow while Bucky had been away at boot-camp, back before...

Steve didn't know how many hours passed before the bedroom door opened, Tony leaning in the doorway. Neither bothered JARVIS with turning up the lights, instead they stayed in the dark of the late night.

"So, it's him?" Tony asked, pressing his forehead to the doorframe.

"Yeah," Steve breathed, tossing Tony's pillow back to its place at the head of the bed. "I don't know how, but yeah..."

The silence hung heavy over them, the dread and anxiety almost a heavy tang in the air. Steve couldn't take it for long.

"Come here," he whispered, uncurling to hold his hand out for Tony, even though he knew Tony wouldn't be able to see him.

Tony stumbled his way to the bed, tired and weary, and let Steve pull him into his arms. Steve pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, nuzzling into Tony's hair, taking in the familiar smell. Nothing like Bucky.

"Everything you've taught me, we can show him, now," Steve mouthed against the inky black of Tony's hair. "I want... I'd like us all to be happy. I really hope I'm not wishing for too much..."

Steve knew Tony wasn't sleeping, but Tony didn't make a reply of any kind, either. Steve's heart felt like it was sinking further in his chest.

* * *

He was finally coming around again, out of the fog made from a needle bite in his neck, and back into the metal and white room. It wasn't anything like with HYDRA, dank and brick, with the tang of copper in the air and on his tongue. This was different, even with the march of soldiers in dark armor passing by his window every so often. He shifted on the comfortable bedding, flexed his bandaged hands, and tugged at his restraints again, cringing as he jarred his shoulder, but still no give. At least they didn't chew into his arm, chafe with every movement, like it had while he was on Zola's metal table. Still, the comfort in his imprisonment didn't seem to quell the little pocket of panic that sat right between his lungs, making it hard to swallow.

He didn't know how he came to this place of metal halls and doors, like something from the Stark Exposition. The last thing he remembered was Steve reaching out for him and then he fell, oh god. He remembered falling and not being able to breathe to scream anymore and pain so sharp it took the world from him.

And suddenly there was Steve on the other side of glass and metal and Bucky didn't know how he had gotten there, or how Steve was on the other side for that matter, or how his hands were such a wreck. He just knew he wanted to be on the other side with Steve, because. Steve.

In war, in peace, in heaven or hell; wherever Steve was, it was the only place Bucky wanted to be.

When the door slid open, Bucky found himself tensing and gritting his teeth in anticipation of another round of needles and prodding. But instead of the nurses in very plain gray clothing, a man in a dark suit and a redheaded woman in a very snug, black catsuit stepped in before the door shut. He eyed them warily, his name and serial number waiting on his tongue.

"Sergeant Barnes," started the woman, approaching slowly. "My name is Agent Natasha Romanoff, and this is Agent Phil Coulson. We're agents of SHIELD."

Crossing his arms casually in front of him, the man, Coulson, rocked once on his feet. "The name might not ring a bell to you, but perhaps the Strategic Science Research division does? We are the next evolution of the SSR, made to continue after the war."

Bucky blinked. "... War's over?"

"It's been over. There's a lot we need to explain to you," Romanoff said. "But there are a lot of things we need you to help us understand, too."

"If you're with the SSR, then why am I tied down? I'm not the enemy here," Bucky grit, pulling again at one of his wrist restraints.

She put her hand on his restraint and looked him in the eyes. It was like she was searching for something in him, something he felt he should know. He thought that maybe she was trying to be intimidating, but instead she seemed... curious. Like what she was finding in him was different than what she had expected. "It was a precaution," she said slowly, like he would run if he could. "You were disoriented when you woke, and you hurt yourself and a few others. We just wanted to keep you calm until we could figure out how to handle the situation."

"If you are willing to cooperate with us, we can remove the restraints," Coulson added, stepping forward. "We need to debrief you on your last mission. And bring you up to speed on the current situation."

"I thought you said war was over." Bucky looked between the two of them.

"We won against the Nazis, if that's what you're asking," Romanoff said easily. "And at this time, there are no pressing conflicts."

"But the world has changed, Sergeant Barnes," Coulson said, calm. "First, we need you to tell us what you can about your last mission. What do you remember?"

Eyes finding a fixed point on the wall between the two of them, Bucky swallowed back the familiar litany of his serial number. It was better than remembering the fall, but if he talked they might let him see Steve. "... We were on a train moving through the Swiss Alps, going after Zola. But I fell out the hole in the side... Christ, am I dead?" He wanted to rub his face, pull at his hair, but his hands, his damn hands, were still tied down.

"You're not dead," Romanoff said, and something like a very small smile moved her lips. "You're very much alive, and we're very surprised by that. Are you sure there isn't anything you can remember before waking up here?"

Bucky shook his head. "The world went black. Then I'm staring through a metal door at Cap, watching him try to beat it down with his shield... Is he here, Captain Rogers?"

Coulson nodded, then shook his head. "He's not here at this time. He'll be back momentarily, when his clearance is no longer revoked."

"It appears that crashing through barricades can have you considered emotionally compromised," Romanoff smiled gently, her hands working at his restraint cuff, freeing one of his hands.

He immediately flexed his wrist and what he could of his bandaged fingers, did the same with the other hand as Coulson freed it, and then rubbed at his face. He felt weary and lost. "So... where am I, anyway?"

"One of SHIELD's bases. This one in particular is the Helicarrier. We're currently ten miles out from the New York Harbor," explained Coulson. "Don't think of leaving, unless you're willing to swim. And it's a hell of a drop first."

"I'll keep that in mind," Bucky muttered, sitting up properly. "So... there's more going on here, then?"

Romanoff looked to Coulson before she turned her focus back on Bucky. "Yes. After you fell, you spent a period of time... frozen. The details aren't a hundred percent clear. We believe that whatever tests Zola had performed on you for Schmidt has caused some lasting effects. Much like the serum that made Steve into a Super Soldier. We think that's how you survived. It's how he survived."

"What are you saying?" Bucky asked, a feeling of dread curling in his gut.

"The fact that you healed faster than the other soldiers, could endure things just a little longer, go with a little less sleep," Coulson pointed out. "Not quite on the same level as Captain Rogers, but. The blood work and physical reports from your file with the SSR pretty much spell it out. HYDRA was trying to replicate Doctor Erskine's formula. You're the closest anyone's managed to get without... side effects. We think that's the only reason you could have survived this long."

Bucky shook his head, rubbed his face again. Nothing was adding up and he was getting really frustrated with the guessing game going on here. "What do you mean 'this long'? 'Frozen'? Pardon my French, lady, but what the fuck is going on!?"

Romanoff hesitated to take a breath before she spoke again. "Sergeant Barnes, since your fall in 1945, Captain Rogers flew a HYDRA plane into the Arctic a week after you were gone. He was frozen in a suspended animation until he was located and unfrozen five years ago. You, however, were lost. Returning to the site of your fall, there was no body to be found. It wasn't until recently that you were recovered, about seventy years since your fall."

Seventy years. Bucky drew in a deep breath and let it out in a rush, blinking and shaking his head. "I'm guessing I was frozen the whole time, too?"

Coulson reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone. "We have reason to believe that you weren't, or at least not the whole time. We don't have all the information we would like. We were actually hoping you would be able to remember and possibly fill us in." He looked over his phone for a second before storing it back inside his jacket. "Captain Rogers is on his way. We realize how great of a shock this is to you. It's our understanding that Rogers would be better at talking with you on the matter, seeing as how he's already been through this himself."

"Sure," Bucky said, voice hoarse, as he laid back against the medical bed.

Not even a moment later, there was a tap on the door and it slid open to reveal Steve. Tall, broad shouldered, perfectly combed hair and all. Other than lacking his uniform and grime from battle, it was as if not even a day had passed since they'd seen each other last in 1945.

Except that Steve's eyes were bright as they looked at Bucky. Bright and wet, but no tears falling, and Bucky watched as Steve swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, and his jaw clenched tight.

Romanoff put a gentle hand on Steve's arm and nodded to him. "He's all yours, Cap." With quiet steps, both agents made their way out of the room, leaving Bucky and Steve alone.

Seventy years. Seventy years since he fell. Steve had lost all that time, too. It was too hard to believe, like something out of a science-fiction pulp magazine.

Desperate to break the silence, to hear Steve and know that this wasn't some sort of dream or illusion in heaven, Bucky cleared his throat. "So, at least tell me we've got those flying cars."

The laugh Steve made was thick, like he was almost choking on it. He lurched forward, making his way to Bucky like starving man to food, and threw his arms around Bucky.

"How you doin, Stevie?" Bucky asked, rubbing at Steve's back, feeling him shudder out a breath against Bucky's shoulder.

"The best now," Steve laughed softly. "I got my best pal here."

As guards marched by the window, Bucky pushed at Steve. Anyone could look in on them and see the hug was going just a little too long. Steve resisted, a wall of warm muscles, and Bucky never wanted to give that up, but he pushed a little more insistently until Steve finally sat back.

"I never. Bucky. I never thought I'd see you again," Steve said, his voice a low rasp of emotions. "I can't believe... I'm so. You wouldn't believe the world now. But no," and that sob of a laugh again, "No flying cars yet. But Tony made a flying suit of armor! It's amazing. Oh, Buck, there's so much to tell you and show you!"

And Steve started in on how they were the last of the Howling Commandos, but Steve was given a new team in the face of coming war and how the Avengers were born...

* * *

They had to be careful now, more careful than they'd ever been. Privacy was scarce in the field and on base, but especially so with everyone keeping an eye out for Steve.

Now that he was bigger and stronger than he'd ever been, made a name for himself as a hero, everyone wanted a chance to shake Steve's hand and speak to him. It made it much too difficult to pull Bucky aside and kiss him.

All they had on the long trek from the HYDRA base were shared looks and the occasional brush against each other. Bucky wouldn't say yet what tortures he faced at the hands of Dr. Zola, but he refused to be treated like an invalid and took the spot at Steve's side for the long march.

It was a week before Steve could see Bucky again after they'd made it to base camp, many of the rescued men were sent to London and other English towns for a little bit of R&R while they sorted out who was reporting where. Steve went through a debrief and a strategic planning session with the SSR team before he made his way to the pub, looking to throw his team together.

The sudden appearance of Agent Carter that evening made for a rather awkward surprise, leaving Bucky somewhat quiet and snippy after she left.

"I can't really blame her, I guess," Bucky finally said, after tipping back one too many drinks. "Chiseled like Greek marble, now. All the dames are gonna want in your pants."

Steve cleared his throat and hoped no one nearby was paying enough attention to hear. "You know me, Buck, I wouldn't..."

"Sure you would. What was that choice bit of calico, all dolled up in red? You were eying her like you could eat her alive," Bucky sighed. "If you want to, you'd better do it before she lets herself get snatched up."

Shaking his head, Steve inched closer to Bucky, speaking as low as he could. "Bucky, I couldn't. Not with... and... it'd be serious. You know I couldn't..."

Bucky turned his head just a little, bringing his glass up to his lips so it covered his mouth in case anyone was looking their way. "So, go be serious with her. You deserve it. A wife, maybe kids... Something normal, for once." He gulped down the last of the liquor in his glass, then pushed himself off the stool to stand on wobbly legs.

"Bucky, wait. Let me settle the tab first."

But Bucky waved him off, sauntering his way through the pub. "You do that, pal," he called, leaving Steve behind.

It was two hours before Steve made his way back to his hotel room, having made sure the men chosen for his team would be well taken care of by the barkeeps as they continued their drinking. He looked for Bucky, hoping he could spot the fool somewhere before he got himself into trouble, but he was nowhere to be seen. It was a surprise for Steve to find him in his hotel room, attempting to push Steve up against the door before Steve could even flip on the light. Bucky's mouth was hot and tasted like whiskey, insistent and nipping against Steve's lips.

"Took you long enough," Bucky breathed against Steve's jaw, mouthing his way along it.

"Was looking for you. You're still drunk."

"Don't mean I don't want you any less." And Bucky pushed up against him, already eager against Steve's thigh. "How are you so damn tall now?"

Steve laughed, relieved and nervous, as he tried walking Bucky back toward the bed. The moment it creaked as Steve's weight settled on it, they both pulled back and listened, old habits of hiding their secret still strong.

"We'll move to the floor," Steve whispered, getting Bucky to stand so he could strip the blankets from the bed to lay out.

Bucky sat back down on the bed. "I swear, if it makes a sound, I don't care. We'll tell people you were practicing your dancing all night. And brushing up on PT in the morning."

"You expect to stick around that long?" Steve asked, getting to his knees before Bucky. His bigger hands fumbled with buttons he wouldn't have had problems with had he been smaller; another thing new to get used to with this new body.

"I'm still on leave for a few more days. Why, you gonna leave me to slip in on your gal?" There's a bite to Bucky's voice that Steve's never heard before, despite the grin on Bucky's face. Apparently Bucky had drank enough to be petty, and Steve needed to tread carefully to avoid a fight.

"What makes you think...? Oh, Bucky, no. I was thinking if you had to report in in the morning. I'm not even worried about her right now," Steve said, trying to take Bucky's hands in his. Bucky just jerked them away.

"You used to be my... pal, Steve. Nobody cared for you like I did. And now... Are you really even that kid from Brooklyn anymore?"

"You know I am, Buck."

"I don't even know this body anymore," Bucky whispered, his voice hoarse and low. "You sound the same and I see you, there in your eyes... But you're not my baby boy anymore, Steve..."

Steve drew Bucky down into another kiss, a slow, familiar quest of lips and tongue they'd shared many times in the quiet of their room in the boarding house. "I'm still your Steve," he breathed against Bucky's mouth. "Always your Steve."

Bucky followed him to the floor then, knee to knee with Steve, hands working at the buttons of Steve's uniform jacket. Despite still being drunk, Bucky's hands were gentle, had always been gentle with Steve. His jacket came off, his shirt and tie, and while Steve knew he should have been worried about his uniform being wrinkled as Bucky tossed them away, Steve couldn't care about it as he watched the look of awe and wonder fall over Bucky's face.

"Christ, Steve..." Bucky let out on a breath, pressing a hand trembling ever so slightly to Steve's unfamiliar broad chest. "And... no asthma? No coughing?"

"I'm the closest thing to human perfection the world will probably ever see," Steve said, his smile sad. Sometimes he still couldn't help thinking about Dr. Erskine and how Steve and Schmit would be the only example of his life's work. "I heal faster and I'm practically immune to everything now. I can't get sick... I won't have to suffer on account of my own body anymore."

Bucky was reverent with his hands, sliding his fingers lightly over his shoulders and stomach, tracing the lines of Steve's body to relearn him. It was a sudden shock when Bucky leaned in to nuzzle at Steve's neck, only to sink his teeth into Steve's shoulder, hard and sharp. With a gasp, Steve's back arched in surprised pleasure, his hands gripping at Bucky's jacket and pulling him in close. It only lasted a few seconds before Bucky gave a quick, hard suck, pulling back to look over the damage.

"What the... What was that for?" Steve demanded, his voice a rasp of arousal.

"Mine," Bucky growled, shoving at Steve's shoulders to lay him back and trying to pin him down, and Steve was started enough by the possessiveness to let him. It sent a thrill up Steve's spine, an electric shiver that only Bucky had ever managed to give Steve. "I don't care how many skirts you chase. Have your Carter dame. Marry her, make her happy. But you're still mine."

"Yes," Steve breathed, he swore, he promised. Steve pulled Bucky down to him, so easy now with this body, and their mouths crushed in a kiss, hot and wet as Steve sucked the last taste of liquor off Bucky's tongue.

He worried that Bucky was still drunk enough not to remember this the next morning. He worried that being sober, Bucky would give up on Steve, expecting he would turn to Agent Carter seriously. But all his worries slid away as Bucky bit on his bottom lip and tugged, drawing Steve's attention back on him. It left Steve gasping in pleasure, not breathlessness for once, and he was desperately pulling at Bucky's clothes. They peeled away all the barriers and someone may have lost a button along the way, but nothing mattered when Bucky moved against Steve, his hot and flushed body sliding against Steve's hypersensitive bare skin.

"Talk to me, Steve," Bucky whispered, grinding against him with a roll of his hips, their cocks sliding together between their bellies.

Steve opened his eyes, didn't remember ever closing them, and stared up at Bucky. Bucky, who was watching his face, his eyes lighting up as they made contact, like ah, I've found you. "Oh, Bucky," he sighed, smiling and biting his lip in pleasure.

"Steve..." Bucky brought his hand between them, wrapping it around both their lengths and stroked idly as they rocked together.

Drawing Bucky down, he mouthed oaths against Bucky's lips. "Love you, Buck... Yours always..."

"'Always..." Bucky moaned back, Steve swallowing the sound of it with a hungry kiss. They moved faster, Bucky's hand tightening it's grip. Steve joined him with one hand, wrapping it around where Bucky's hand didn't cover to lengthen the gripping warmth for them to thrust into. His other hand pushed into Bucky's dark hair and held on, keeping him from pulling too far back between kisses. Not that Bucky moved far, staring into Steve's eyes when he could, never looking down at how their bodies moved together.

Bucky's eyes fluttered, edging ever closer to completion. "My Steve..." he mumbled against Steve's cheek, panting heavily with each rock of his hips.

Steve loved it, heat in his gut burning hotter just knowing he was bringing Bucky with him to an end. He turned his head to kiss at Bucky's jaw, the sensitive skin just below it, and as his teeth grazed over it, he gave into an urge and sank them in. Bucky gave a strangled cry as his body bucked, a hot wetness spilling over Steve's hand and chest. "Mine..." Steve hissed, as he followed after him.

Bucky lasted long enough to flop over on the blanket beside Steve before passing out, leaving Steve to laugh quietly in exasperation as he moved to clean them both up and tuck Bucky into the bed. He picked up their clothes, setting them out neatly on a chair to avoid anymore wrinkles, before laying down beside Bucky to get a few hours of sleep.

Bucky opened his eyes and watched groggily as Steve put his uniform back on in the morning, his eyes lingering over Steve's shoulders and where his bite mark would have been, though it was already healed and gone. "Where you going again?"

"Meeting with Howard Stark. If I don't get pulled into another strategy meeting, I'll be back after lunch, I hope."

"Popular with all the kids now, huh?" Bucky groaned, turning onto his back for a stretch.

Steve sat on the edge of the bed and took Bucky's hand to kiss it. "You're the only one that matters to me."

"Don't forget your girl."

Letting out a sigh, Steve kissed Bucky's hand again. "Not yet. After the war. I'll tell her and... see where that goes."

"You really like her, don't you?"

"You'd like her, too," Steve smiled.

Bucky lurched to a sitting position to give Steve a quick kiss. "Alright. Don't be late. I'll meet you back here for dinner."

"Sure thing, Sergeant," Steve said as he straightened up his uniform and slipped out into the hall.

* * *

"After a week of constant evaluations from our psychological division, we can't get anything out of Sergeant Barnes," Fury said, standing before the Avengers sitting on his command bridge. "If he truly is the Winter Soldier, that era in his mind seems to be completely erased. Short of calling in favors with Charles Xavier over in Westchester, our experts don't think we'll get anything else out of him."

Coulson picked up for Fury. "Though he may not remember his past as an assassin, he seems to have the muscle memory of it. Physical examinations find him to be rather... dangerous. His reaction times and agility are near par to Cap's, as is his endurance and tolerance for pain. There was extensive damage done to his left shoulder in the past, but do n't look at it as a disadvantage for him--he does not favor the arm, and striking it does not incapacitate him like one would expect. Try not to sneak up on him, or you'd be needing the Hulk or Iron Man if you to take him down without too much of a fuss."

"I'm sure it won't come to that," Steve said, looking between the Director and Agent.

"We don't know that the Red Room hasn't set up triggers of some sort in his mind," Natasha said, her lips pursing in a sad frown. "He doesn't remember anything, but as of right now, short of a telepath going over his mind with a fine-tooth comb, we don't know what is lurking in his brain. They could have left triggers for him to attack a target or kill himself, and we wouldn't know until the mission kicked in for him. It's dangerous to have him in public until we know there is no mental trap waiting to be sprung."

Steve shook his head. "He'll go stir crazy if you keep him inside all the time. You can't do that to him."

Fury walked around the table to stand at Steve's side. "As it is, we actually can't do that to him. He may be a danger to society if he should snap, but until he does, he's just a man returned from the dead, with no way for us to prove he was ever an assassin. Keeping him imprisoned here against his will is not acceptable. That being said... SHIELD would like to release Sergeant Barnes into the custody of the Avengers."

"He's yours as soon as you're ready," Coulson said, expression as unassuming as ever. "Hill is with him now, discussing release forms."

Steve blinked, thinking he would have had to put up more of a fight than this. "You're letting him go? Just like that?"

"No, not just like that," Fury said, rolling his eyes. "What kind of man do you take me for, Rogers? There are some parameters that need to be set and rules you will not disobey. Just because he's not currently our prisoner doesn't mean he won't be under constant surveillance. Stark, can we have your AI on duty for that?"

"JARVIS answers only to me, so don't go getting any ideas," Tony said loftily.

"I don't care who your computer answers to, Stark. I just want to know that if and when Captain Roger's friend goes off the deep-end, your AI will alert the proper authorities here at SHIELD."

Tony rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone, apparently generating a new string of code for JARVIS' command files.

"As long as he does not leave Avengers Tower, does not harm anyone, and does not actively plan to harm anyone, SHIELD isn't too worried about him. If any one of those three conditions are broken, SHIELD wants him back, and you all are required to do what you must to see he is brought back into SHIELD's care. If someone loses a life to him... I'm sorry, Cap, but he'll have to lose his own in return."

Steve nodded, steeling himself against the possibilities of a worst case scenario happening. "Understood, sir."

Fury looked to the rest of the Avengers for agreement on the terms. "Now that that's settled, I have other business to attend. Romanoff, I need you with me. The rest of you, feel free to get the hell off my helicarrier."

As they all began to disperse from the conference table, Steve moved to Tony, pulling him aside. "Are you... Will you be okay with him there?"

Tony sniffed, quirking his mouth. "You'll be happy, right? You'll have him there and you can figure out the future together. And I'll just stand back and watch you--"

"Tony, no--"

"--both flounder around with no clue. What did you think I was going to say?"

"I'm not leaving you, Tony."

Tony rolled his eyes and gave Steve an annoyed smirk. "I didn't say you were."

Very gently, Steve reached out for Tony's hands, holding them. "Thank you, Tony. I just... I want you to know him. For all I loved him, he's all the family I really ever had. Maybe you'll love him one day, too."

Tony pursed his lips and tried to smile, looking more like a grimace. He let go of one of Steve's hands to pat at Steve's shoulder. "Go get'em, soldier. Bring your boy home."

Steve gave him a little mock salute and half-hearted smile before heading off to the medical bay to find Agent Hill. He nearly ran her over as he cleared the corner.

"Captain," she nodded in greeting, quickly recovering after the near-miss. "I suppose you're here to collect Sergeant Barnes?"

Steve couldn't keep the smile on his face from growing, letting out a deep breath he felt he'd been holding since years gone by. "I am. Is he ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Bucky said, stepping out of the medical room where he'd practically been held hostage. Wearing a simple pair of khakis and SHIELD issue teeshirt, Bucky looked like he'd just woken from ice the same as Steve had five years ago. "So, you showing me this future or what, punk?"

Steve couldn't help himself at that moment, taking the few steps to pull Bucky into a hug. "Jerk," he muttered with a smile as Bucky awkwardly pat him on the back.

"Hey, cut the sap for me and let's blow this Popsicle stand."

It seemed like a whirlwind after that, taking a Quinjet to a drop-off point in Brooklyn and Happy picking them up so they could just look at the sights and changes and lights. Bucky was full of questions, and groans, too, when something he'd really enjoyed was gone from the world they remembered. From Brooklyn to Manhattan, Happy drove them around like tourists all the way up to Avengers Tower.

"I still don't get how you have this bizarre luck," Bucky said, looking up at the monstrosity of a building. "You, ending up with the superhero pulp equivalent of our old Howling Commandos, living with them in a penthouse--like it's a treehouse, for chrissake. You can have anything you've ever wanted. I don't know if I should be jealous or proud that you've finally got the chance to have everything you deserve."

"You deserve it, too, Buck. You were a hero when you fell," Steve said, watching Bucky frown.

"I'm no hero."

"You are. You... died... trying to protect me. That makes you a hero in my book." Bucky's frown turned into a wry grin.

"And I suppose your book is the only one that counts?"

"And don't you forget it," Steve smiled, slinging his arm around Bucky's shoulder.

They took the residential elevator from the garage straight up to Steve's old floor, letting Bucky look over the balcony to the common area below as he unlocked the door. As Steve did a quick search for his spare set of keys, Bucky didn't follow him in as he listened to Clint playing in the entertainment room.

"What's that sound?"

"I think Clint's racing," Steve smiled, handing over Bucky's keys and leading him down the flight of stairs to the common area. Looking up, one could see the balconies of each floor, a small landing area in front of the door where they could get off the elevator or take the stairs. Steve pointed out each floor going up,

"Yours, Dr. Banner's, Thor's (even though he's in Asgard right now), Natasha's, Clint's, and Tony's at the top."

The open space under the balcony was a living room of sorts, with sofas and coffee tables, much like a well lived in waiting room. A wide hall led back into a large open kitchen and dining area, with stainless steel appliances, dark cabinets and countertops, and a long table with enough space to fit ten people.

Across the hall from the kitchen was the entertainment room, with sofas and chairs, shelves of media, and a whole wall dedicated to a massive widescreen television. Hidden surround sound speakers were pumping out the sounds of Clint's game as he barreled a soupped up sports car around a track.

"This is Clint," Steve introduced the archer, but Bucky was too mesmerized by the screen to notice until Clint paused to actually shake his hand.

"I hear you're a great shot," Clint smirked, leaning back against the seat cushions.

"So they say," Bucky shrugged. "Not like I can show off, though, considering I'm not allowed to touch a weapon without going back to the flying prison. So, what sorta racing is this?"

Steve settled in and watched as Clint showed Bucky how to use a controller and play the game, describing all the different car makes and models and how to modify them to improve their racing abilities. At some point, Bruce wandered in and took a chair farthest from where Bucky sat.

When Steve introduced them, Clint turned off the TV and let Bruce ask Bucky about what he felt like after his time in the Hydra camp, if he could tell the difference of having a serum like Steve's in his system. When Natasha made her way in, she sat on the other side of Clint and greeted Bucky, sliding right into the conversation he was having with Bruce. Tony was the last to join them, breezing his way in with a greasy tank-top and forced smile. He sat beside Steve and threw his feet up on the coffee table.

"And you must be the man of the hour," he said, mouth quirking and nose twitching.

"I wouldn't be wrong in guessing you're Tony Stark, then?" Bucky asked. They were too far apart to shake hands, but Steve was quietly glad for that.

"The one and only. Now, I'm pretty sure Steve has told you all about us, and that's not really fair since we weren't there to defend ourselves. So how about you tell us about yourself, and if you can sneak in any embarrassing stories about Steve, that would make up for it."

And so it started, the barrage of questions. Has Steve always been so...? Just how tiny was he? Did Steve really...? And Bucky laid it on thick, having an active audience he could spout all the best and most embarrassing things about Steve. He could see it in Bucky's eyes, in his smile, that Bucky was sharing his thoughts on one of his favorite subjects, and with a group of people that understood; not some dumb clucks that were hanging on to his every word for a chance with Bucky.
An ache settled in Steve's chest, heavy and painful. What was he doing? Tony was sitting beside him, shifting his leg so his thigh pressed against Steve's and it reminded him. Reminded Steve of how every time he looked at Bucky, he remembered what they had and how he lost it, but the feelings were still there.

He’d wanted to tell Bucky, be honest with him and tell him how things were with Tony. But he'd look at Bucky, with his hazel eyes and a devilish smile, and he couldn't. Put it off promising that he'd wait until they were alone, without SHIELD agents to barge in or security cameras watching them, handle it with the secrecy they've handled their whole relationship in the past.

He was being selfish, he knew, but he just got him back. The last thing he wanted was losing him again so soon.

The moment Tony put a casual hand on Steve's thigh, he knew it was too late. He closed his eyes against the strangled off words of Bucky's punchline, unable to look at what probably showed on Bucky's face.

"You folks are swell," Bucky said, sounding subdued compared to his eager and laughing tones just moments before. "And... I'm glad you've taken care of Steve... since I couldn't."

Steve finally looked up, but Bucky wouldn't meet his eyes now as he got to his feet. "Bucky..."

"Pardon me for being rude, but I think all this future malarkey's catching up with me. Excuse me..."

"Bucky," Steve called again, but Bucky didn't stop in his retreat, taking the stairs up to Steve's old apartment and letting himself in.

"Did he not... know?" Bruce asked, waving at Steve in a vague gesture.

Steve swallowed and shook his head. "I... didn't have the heart to tell him..."

"You're a national gay icon, he'd find out eventually," Clint pointed out.

"That's... not it. He knew..." Steve said. "He and I... We once..." He looked to Tony.

Tony, who clenched his jaw as if to hold back the disappointment, the hurt that was obvious in his eyes. "You didn't tell him about us." It wasn't a question.

"I didn't know how," Steve said, shaking his head.

"You're a tactical genius, Steve. Did you give it any thought?" Tony's words were laced with a bite.

"He's just come back into my life, Tony! He's in a strange place with nowhere to go. I couldn't push him away..."

Tony sniffed, his jaw working as he stared hard through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the Manhattan skyline. "You better go get him, then."

"Tony, no... Please, let's not do this right now. Not in front of everyone..."

Bruce got up and started edging toward the door. "It's alright. The pressure's a little too heavy for me here, anyway. Night, all."

"I don't know," Clint started, folding his arms over his chest. "This is kinda like a train wreck. Really don't wanna watch, but I can't keep my eyes away."

Tony snarled, "Get the fuck out of here, Barton," at the same time Natasha grabbed him by the ear and started hauling him out of the room, leaving Steve and Tony alone.

"I'm going to tell him," Steve said, his voice determined despite the sorrow rolling in his stomach.

"Sure," Tony was being flippant now, defenses going up. "You go do that. I suppose, if you come to bed tonight, you'll let me know how that goes. And if you don't, well. That's that, isn't it?"

Steve tried reaching out for Tony, to stop him, pull him in, to do something, but Tony brushed him off, making his way out of the room and more than likely to his workshop. Or his stash of liquor.

There was no squaring of his shoulders, no steady march to Steve's gait. He hung his head like a little boy, knowing how much wrong he had done. In trying to spare one heart, he was now breaking three; the hearts of the men he loved, and his own. He made his way into his old apartment, knowing the open floor plan well enough that he didn't need to turn on any of the lights. Knocking on the first door he came across, the bathroom, Steve knew he had the right place by the muffled, angry curse inside.

"Bucky, please..."

"Go away."

"I need to explain..."

"Well, maybe I don't want to hear it. Especially since it wasn't so important you couldn't tell me before."

Steve opened the bathroom door anyway, slipping in to push it closed and lean against it. He found Bucky huddled in between the sink and the shower of the spacious bathroom. "I owe you the truth."

"No, I get it. I get it. I've been gone for awhile. I shouldn't even be here," Bucky said, his mouth pursed in a miserable grimace. "Hey, just tell me he's good to you. Is he?"

Steve slid to the floor, back against the bathroom door. "Yeah," he said quietly, pulling his knees up to his broad chest.

Bucky tipped his head back, shutting his eyes tight, like when he thought he was going to lose Steve to an asthma attack or the flu. Just like he used to when he was scared he was going to lose Steve. "Christ, Steve, is he as smarmy as his pa? He looks like he could be."

The smile was weak on Steve's face, not that Bucky was looking at him. "He has his moments. I know how you didn't care for Howard, but Tony... he's something else completely."

"You could have just told me."

"I didn't know how..." Steve tried, the sound of his heartbreak caught up in his throat, choking him. "I thought I'd lost you forever and I didn't... I didn't know I'd lose my heart to him like this. This isn't like Peggy... Gosh, Buck... Everything's so different now and... we don't have to hide it. We don't have to hide it anymore..."

Bucky opened his eyes, but the hurt that was there cut like a knife. "You mean you and Stark don't have to hide it. There's no we anymore, Steve."

"I'm so sorry, Bucky..."

"I thought I was dead, Steve. But I woke up seventy years after I fell, still remembering the pain of it," Bucky choked on his words. "But this... this hurts more..."

Steve folded his arms over his knees and buried his face against them, shutting his eyes tight against the blur and sting in his eyes. No amount of apologies was going to make up for this, Steve knew. He said it once more anyway, hoping against hope it would smooth something over, but the silence hung heavy from Bucky until Steve got to his feet and made his way out.

The trudge up to Tony's and his penthouse felt like the longest uphill battle he'd ever faced, each step a fight. He knew he should have said something sooner, and though it would have hurt Bucky, maybe it wouldn't have hurt Tony, too. He was breaking them both with his selfishness.

Steve fought every step not to give in and just end it all, to go sleep on a couch in the common area. Having one and not the other wasn't fair to the one without, and he should have neither pay for his selfishness.

But he promised Tony he wouldn't leave him, and he wouldn't. He couldn't break a promise to Tony. So he slipped into the penthouse, slipped into bed.

"Steve?" Tony reached out, putting his hand over Steve's under the blankets.

"I'm here, Tony..."

He'd made his decision, but it still hurt so much.

* * *

Bucky tossed and turned, the anger and hurt rolling in his gut like acid, burning at his insides, his chest, his heart.

It felt like only yesterday they were at war, with Bucky watching Steve's back, protecting him. His scrawny, belligerent angel with his bent and tarnished halo, now changed into an archangel with a blazing shield. It seemed like he had just gotten used to that amazing feeling that this was what his Steve looked like on the inside all along.

And then he fell, and it was just like taking a nap, only to wake up in a whole other world.

Where Steve had found someone else overnight.

But it wasn't like that, was it? Bucky tried to make sense of it, that Steve had been awake in this time for some five years now and had mourned Bucky and tried to move on. The coincidence that Bucky had even survived to this time and was here with Steve was a complete freak accident. A miracle, maybe. But it didn't change the fact that Steve had lived without him, lived thinking Bucky was completely gone, for five years.

God, so much had changed. Not just the world, but even Steve, if only a little. He was still the same earnest, honest, righteous man Bucky had fell for when they were just boys. But there was something sweeter, more open in this Steve, like the future had did something good for him. Like the sharp, stubborn need to prove himself and low boiling aggression had eased out of him and Steve was just... happy. It was something Bucky had never managed.

And to find Stark's son drew this peaceful happiness out of Steve rankled Bucky to his core. If the son was anything like his father--an arrogant, skirt-chasing drunk--he didn't deserve someone like Steve. Hell, the man didn't even know Steve as Bucky had, just the beautiful creature Steve had become after being pulled inside-out. He'd never even see the Steve that nobody ever wanted because they couldn't get past the old busted shell.

No one had wanted the frail boy-sized body with it's fevers and asthma that Bucky knew at first, no one but Bucky himself. His Steve, with one foot in the grave because of his health, and the other foot soon to follow as he faced down any lugg or mook with the gall to bully someone on his watch.

The air was a little stale with disuse, but whole apartment still smelled like Steve, but especially the soft bed, even with it's fresh sheets and pillows, and the bathroom, with his soap. The pictures hanging on the walls, with frames they could have never afford in their time, were Steve's familiar style of art in pencils, charcoals, and watercolors.

It looked nothing like home to Bucky, nothing like the orphanage, or the little room in the boarding house, or their tent as they trampled through Europe. It looked like something from the future with steel cabinets in the kitchen and fancy, streamlined furniture, everything shiny and new. But little bits of Steve were everywhere he turned: baseballs sitting on a bookshelf, a stray doodle with a reminder tacked near a light-switch, shoes set neatly by the door, horrendously colored afghans draped over the sofa. Bucky paced and poked around, hunting for some point on a wall that didn't haunt him, leaving him hollow and miserable.

He found himself practically kicking the door down to get away, to get out of the apartment and, Christ, just anywhere else. He couldn't leave the building, but he'd take anything, be anywhere if it got him away from Steve's things. It was an hour or two before sunrise, so Bucky suspected there wouldn't be anyone moving around in the common area as he made his way down the stairs.

A sound in the kitchen proved him wrong, but before Bucky could retreat, Stark stepped into view, carrying an overly large mug. Their eyes locked and anger flared, red hot and violent in Bucky's stomach, leaving him ready to spit acid, to burn at the other man the moment he opened his mouth.

"I have yet to see how you even merit being my replacement."

Something dark and steely shone in Stark's wide, expressive eyes for just a moment, before a very practiced look of boredom fell into place with a lazy quirk of his mouth. "Not so much a replacement as an upgrade. Welcome to the future, Bucky."

"That's James Barnes to you. You haven't earned yourself any points in my eyes yet."

Stark shrugged, looking so nonchalant over the whole encounter, but Bucky could see the white-knuckle clench he had on the mug handle. "If you don't like it here, I know SHIELD is more than welcome to take you in. You don't have to stay on Steve's account. I'd rather you didn't, actually."

"Of course you don't want me here," Bucky snorted. "I'm a reminder of all the things Steve once had, all the things he could call his own. I remind Steve of what he's lost. And now he can have it back."

"Oh, you're trying to make me jealous. That's cute," Stark smiled smugly. "I don't know if you've noticed, but Steve can have whatever he wants here. Not just here, in this Tower with me, but here in this time period. Because Steve loves telling everyone he's in love with me. We've told the world. And he's proud of it. I don't know how you think your quaint memories are going to draw him back, considering how he hates remembering all the hiding and shame."

That stung, a sharp blow to Bucky's pride. He had always thought Steve was happy with their secret, that as long as they were in love, the fear and shame wouldn't matter. Bucky grit his teeth against the burning ache in his chest. "So damn arrogant, just like your father."

Stark's imperious calm swept away in an instant and that dark, steely look was back, written in all the lines of his face. "You want arrogant, I can show you arrogant. Get the hell out of my house--"

"Stop it!" Steve's voice rang out from above them, echoing off the glass of the windows and the balconies hanging over the open space of the common area. They both looked up to him, Bucky half expecting him to make the six story jump to get between them. Instead, Steve took the stairs but made it down nearly as fast.

"What is going on here? Did you both go looking for a fight?"

"He started it," Stark threw out, giving Bucky an evil eye.

"What are you, a child?" Bucky glared.

"I was going to my workshop. You ambushed me," Stark bit back, pointing in Bucky's face.

"Stick that finger back in my face again, and you won't have it anymore."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Stand down, the both of you!" Steve shouted, hands going to both their chests, pushing them apart.

"Bucky, please. Tony's letting you stay here because I asked him to. Because I want you here with me. Don't make me regret that. And Tony..." Steve swallowed, his jaw tensing. "He's hurting... I hurt him... Please, I don't want you to take it out on each other."

Bucky could see the brightness in Steve's eyes, the tears there at the edge that never fell. The familiar way he never cried because he was was so solid, even when he thin enough to break in half. And Bucky had did it. The people that Steve loved most were hurting him, causing those tears, and it twisted Bucky's gut into knots.

Pursing his lips in a grimace, Bucky held out his hand and gripped Stark's tightly when he shook it. "You hurt Steve," he growled, "and there will be no SHIELD facility in this world that will hold me back."

"Don't think I won't put your ass back on ice," Stark countered.

Steve heaved a weary sigh.

* * *

Steve spent some time traveling, stopping in all the towns he once visited on his Captain America junket so many years ago. Everything was so different; even the smallest of towns bloomed into sprawling cities. He didn't know what to do with everything being so different, and it filled his chest with a chilled feeling, settled down in his gut with a deep loneliness. Everyone he had once known from before was gone, leaving him to make this journey alone.

It hurt to think about Bucky being gone, he barely had time to process it before his nosedive into icy waters. Steve missed him more than he understood how to handle, the darkest parts of his mind wishing he had died in the ice so he wouldn't have left Bucky and his memories behind. But even if he had managed to survive from the plane crash, he could have tried to live with Peggy and the other Commandos, he could have had the normal life that Bucky had wanted for Steve.

Instead, he felt like he was in a whole other world. Lost. He didn't have Bucky or any other familiar face to turn to, to write to, to call.

Coming back to his apartment was nothing like coming home. It was just another place to lay his head, like any other hotel room. He tried to get used to it, start up a routine to keep his mind focused on what's next, instead of what did I miss.

It gave him plenty of time to read and draw, to try understanding the new world around him in ways that he could handle.

The lamp by his living room window was just enough light to work by as he sat on the fire escape. Sketching to fill his time, to keep his mind empty and memories at bay, Steve looked to the alley below him or the apartments across the way for things that would catch his eye: the play of light and dark with the street light falling across the opening of the alley, the silhouette of the daisies in the flower box outside a neighbor's lit kitchen window. He avoided things like the lines of a car sitting near the curb, sleek and curvy compared to the boxy chunkiness of the Fords he remembered.

The hissing rush of propulsion and the low whining hum of the repulsors drew Steve's attention upwards. Drifting in an easy hover between the buildings to come up along Steve, Iron Man lifted his faceplate for Tony to give him a smile.

"Home already, Cap?"

"I guess, if you can call it home," Steve sighed, the sound of it lost in the noise of Tony's armor keeping him afloat. "You want to come inside?"

Tony's mouth flicked at the corners with something funny, something a little uncomfortable. "I, uh. Can't. The suit. Old buildings. I don't know how re-enforced the floors are and. Uh. The ground, maybe?"

"Sure," Steve said as he got to his feet, leaning in the window to put his sketchpad on the table near the lamp. Tony was already on the ground when Steve worked on descending the creaking wrought iron escape. As he came down the last landing, he hopped the railing with ease to land next to Tony. "There isn't a situation, is there?"

"Nope, no situation. No emergencies," Tony shrugged, the panels of his armor shifting with the movement. It looked as graceful and natural as an insect, drawing Steve's eyes to the lines of the suit. It always surprised him how much it looked like it could have stepped out of the pages of one of Bucky's sci-fi Pulps. If Steve lets his mind wander, it almost seemed like Howard was in the suit instead. "Just wanted to see how our favorite retro superhero was handling it all. Had a fun trip?"

Steve scratched his forehead, trying find somewhere else to train his eyes, his mind. "Not much was the same as I remembered. Even with a map, I, uh. Got lost a lot."

"Alzheimer's already, Captain Rocketpop?"

Of course, so much of what Tony said seemed to go over his head. "What?"

Tony rolled his eyes and started rattling off. "Nothing. Look. So, I have this tower. I know you said it was big and ugly. Well, it is big, but if you say it's ugly again, I'm going to tell Pepper, and she's got 12% of a reason to, uh, not be happy at you."

"Okay," Steve said slowly, not sure where Tony was taking this.

"I was thinking we could go get some dinner and look at specs. I mean, like I said, the place is big and it's really impractical to have all that empty space. So since Bruce is there, comes and goes as he pleases..." Tony shrugged again, so Steve kept his focus on those wide, dark eyes of Tony's. "You should join us. It'll be fun. Superhero treehouse."

Steve blinked, not at all expecting Tony's offer.

Tony took his silence as needing to convince him more. "They said that Coulson should be able to leave the medbay in a day or two, so, you know. We could all be there for that. And then get you moved in. Natasha and Barton are coming. Thor hasn't come back yet, but it's never bad to have a place for him to crash when he's in town."

"You want us all to come live with you?" Steve finally managed to get past the lump in his throat. The Howling Commandos all had talked about going their separate ways, but promised to stay in touch. If they had a building, a home like what Tony was offering, they could have stayed together after the War, like a family.

"Jesus, no! You'll all have your own apartments. In my building... With me."

The laugh bubbled up on it's own, surprising Steve. "You want us to come live with you." This time it wasn't a question.

"So, you coming or what?" Tony smiled, inclining his head almost like a curious puppy.

Steve felt himself grin, giving a half hearted shrug. "We're not having shawarma for dinner, are we?"

Tony's eyes brightened, but he hid it quickly with a snort, waving his hand. "No way, old man. Broadening your horizons. Trying something new. You ever had Thai?"

"No, but I'm looking forward to it," Steve laughed, grateful for the chance to not be so alone.

Part 1 <-- || Fic masterpost || --> Part 3