Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Eli Jones started the day before break at ass o'clock in the morning, loudly humming Aretha, tripping on the bunkbed ladder coming down, and landing on his roommate's bed below.

Sam Wilson started the day being landed on.

Everything else unfolded in pretty short order after that: Sam woke up, badly startled, and kicked Eli off his bed. They fought. Well, it wasn't actually possible to fight with someone as easygoing as Eli. But sure - Sam tried to lecture Eli, Eli laughed like he thought it was all a joke, Sam lost his temper, yelled about Eli being immature, and threw his pillow across the room.

He missed. Eli left the room still humming... Sam's pillow remained on the floor.

Sam glared straight up at the ceiling. 'I bet you think this is real funny,' he told God.

It was just reflex. Not like anyone was really listening.

He rolled over back in bed and tugged the covers over his head.

When Sam finally got up for QRM an hour and a half later, he was still in a foul mood. It struck him sideways, sometimes, just how much bitterness the human body could hold. But by the time he'd finished his midterm - which really wasn't anywhere near as difficult as Professor Ogundipe had implied - he was actually feeling a little guilty for how he'd yelled at Eli.

There were only four years of difference between them, but in many ways, Eli felt a lot younger to Sam. It wasn't just that he seemed immature, it was also that he seemed... well, hopeful. There was a steady, unshaking belief in the world around him, in the people around him - and it made Sam want to shake him.

Which was probably wrong, right? Right.

And yea, Sam wasn't a morning person, and Eli needed to learn to respect that - but this was about more than that. Sam tended to cut Eli off in ways that weren't very fair, or even very kind, and he would justify it to himself by saying, oh, Eli didn't understand what he'd been through, he didn't have the same stakes to worry about, he was the spoiled grandson of a Howling Commando, he was just a kid.

Eli was just a kid. So it wasn't fair to punish him for being immature. God knows Sam wished he'd gotten more time to fool around.

By the time lunch had rolled around and Sam still hadn't seen Eli back in the room or anywhere else on campus, he was starting to feel really guilty.

Yea, he'd had a tough time of it, but none of that was Eli's fault. Sarah was right: he really did need therapy.

He headed back to the dorms after Swimming, a lot more calm, but still not knowing where to start. He knew his department offered free counselling services to students, but a lot of those were with grad students trying to bulk up their hours. Better to have someone with lots of experience. But it still wouldn't be that hard to find a therapist, right? A good one, a black one? He could just ask for a recommendation out of the vast pool of Howard alumni, probably.

But how would he pay for it?

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he only noticed that the light was now on in his room after he'd practically opened the door already.

'Oh, there you are!' he said, relieved. At least he'd get a chance to talk to Eli before he left for break.

A man turned around from peering out the window and stopped stock-still at the sight of Sam.

'--I didn't know you were expecting me,' said the man.

'Oh,' Sam stood in the door, staring back at him, 'sorry. I was-- I thought you were my roommate? Eli?' There was a pile of Eli's luggage on the floor, he saw; and the man was staring down at Sam's crop top in apparent shock. 'Uh. Excuse me. Let me... go put on something over this.' Man, Eli couldn't have warned him they were going to have visitors?! Of all the inconsiderate-- immature--

'...You're Sam?' said the man. Sam could feel him boring holes in his back. 'Sam, Elijah's roommate?'

'Oh, uh, I,' said Sam, head currently trapped in the head of his sweatshirt, 'yes? Sorry--'

'Here,' said the man, coming closer right as Sam finally got his head through the hole. 'Or, oh, no-- you got it already.'

Eli must've taken his sweatshirt, Sam figured - that was why this one fit so tight! He really did have the most annoying roommate in the world. 'Yup,' he said, sighing and smoothing the bottom of the sweatshirt, 'I got it.'

When he raised his eyes, he noticed how close the man still was. He noticed how his eyes flickered, following Sam's hands down; how he pulled his eyes quick, up and away.

Huh, thought Sam.

He peered into the man's face curiously: looked at the line of his jaw, the silver starting at his temples. The lines by his eyes.

His eyes - his eyes. The way that he stared.

There was something familiar about him. But the man ducked away from his gaze.

Sam tilted his head. 'Who are you?' he asked. Something within him made his voice go down gentle.

The man raised his head, dragging his eyes all the way up Sam's body to find his face.

'I,' he said. Sam leaned forward to hear him better, taking in the bob of his throat, the wet of his lips where he licked them. 'I--'

'I got it!' Eli crowed, bursting into the room. 'Uncle Steve! I got a verbal commitment! Keisha said she wouldn't mind us getting lunch together sometime! Maybe!'

'Oh, well!' the man named Steve turned to Eli with obvious relief, smiling big and wide. Sam tracked the red blooming up his neck with interest. 'Good for you, Elijah!'

And then it clicked.

'Oh my god,' said Sam, realising. Uncle Steve. 'You're Steve Carter-Rogers.'

Steve's face was fully red by now. 'I, uh,' he said, turning to Sam but not really looking at him. 'Yes.'

'Oh, sorry, I didn't say anything before!' said Eli. 'Uncle Steve, this is my roommate Sam. Sam, this is-- wait a minute, hold on,' said with a sudden fit of laughter, 'brother, what are you wearing?'

Sam folded his arms - the sweatshirt barely let him. 'I think the better question,' he said, 'is whose sweatshirt are you wearing?'

Eli took another look at Sam's sweatshirt - and then at his own, rolled up five times on each arm and unfashionably long past his waist.

'Oh,' he said, smiling sheepishly, 'sorry?' Steve snorted to himself. 'Uncle Steve! Read the room! It's not funny!'

'Sorry, sorry,' said Steve, chuckling a little, 'you're right, it's not funny. Ahem.'

He had a nice laugh, Sam thought, staring at him from the side. He never laughed in any of the documentaries Sam had watched on the Howling Commandos.

He had also never pinged n-o-t-h-i-n-g on no kind of radar before. Giving Sam them bedroom eyes, tsk. Wasn't he fucking married?

'Is Mrs Carter-Rogers around?' said Sam, taking a few steps back. 'If I can get something signed for my sister, I'll be her favourite brother ever.'

Steve, unexpectedly, turned that smile his way. 'Heh, I'll bet,' he said. 'How is Sarah?'

Sam furrowed his brow, and turned to Eli, who was frowning at Steve. 'Uh, she's great,' he said. 'I didn't know... that Eli had mentioned her to you?' He couldn't remember the last time he'd mentioned her to Eli, come to think of it.

'Must have been in passing,' said Eli, clapping his hands. 'Anyway! We should probably,' he jerked a thumb out behind him, 'head out soon, so--!'

'Oh,' said Steve, looking between Eli and Sam. 'Is Sam not coming...?' Sam shot him a blank look. Steve scratched the back of his neck. 'It's just, Eli mentioned you'd be on your own for break, and he thought it would be nice if we gave you a ride to New York, on our way to the reunion.'

'Hm,' said Sam, looking away and trying to think of how he could politely decline. A 3+ hour roadtrip was kind of one of the last things he wanted to do with his roommate and his roommate's weird-hot fake uncle.

Eli beat him to the punch: 'Oh, Sam probably doesn't want to be crammed into a tiny little car with us for four hours, ha-ha-ha! Plus, we were both kind of stressed about midterms, so I didn't give him any head's up. He'd have, like, no time to pack.'

Huh. What a mature and insightful response. How completely unsuspicious.

'Right,' said Steve, staring intently at Sam, 'no, of course, that makes total sense.'

Sam turned his eyes back on Steve - on his arms, his hips and his hands; and a frisson of awareness lit up his whole body.

Easy, he thought. Take it easy. Don't take it for something it can't be. Not again.

All at once he slid his eyes away, awash in the memory of embarrassment. So Captain America had hidden, possibly unheterosexual depths - so what? It didn't have anything to do with him.

It didn't have to have anything to do with him.

'Actually,' he said, looking at Eli, 'Sarah was trying to get me to come-up to see her, but I couldn't scrounge up enough dough for a bus ticket. I actually would really appreciate a ride.' He became critically aware of the fact that the last time he'd talked with Eli, he'd been yelling about how immature he was. 'But only if it's ok with you.'

Eli frowned. 'Of course it's ok with me! I was the one who suggested it. Only thing, though: we have to leave in like,' he rolled up his sweatshirt sleeve to look at his watch, '35 minutes or less, so chop-chop! My mom wanted us to take Amtrak up to Penn Station, and I just know she's gonna worry for every minute that we're late. So I'll see you out there soon.' He clapped Sam on the shoulder with a smile, then turned to Steve. 'Uncle Steve - why don't you come help me load up the car?'

Eli really was a good guy, Sam thought, heart sinking. No way he was gonna say no, not after being put on the spot like that.

He watched Eli grab the keys on his desk, yank up one of his duffle bags, and zip out of the room; and he felt like an enormous asshole.

'You know what?' said Sam, before Steve could follow Eli out the door, 'it's fine, actually. You guys go on ahead. It takes me forever to pack and,' he laughed to himself, 'it seems like you guys have a pretty intense schedule planned.'

Steve let the door go and turned to look at him fully. 'Oh, I'll help you pack, then,' he said, putting his hands on his hips.

'No, that's,' Sam laughed a little, unwillingly, 'really not necessary.'

Steve grinned at him. 'No, really, c'mon, where's your suitcase? Is it under your bed?' He got down on the floor before Sam could stop him. 'Oh, wow.' He glanced up at Sam. 'Is this all your stuff shoved under here?' Sam's face went hot. Steve grinned even wider. 'Mm, tsk-tsk-tsk.'

'Well, I didn't exactly think I was gonna get a surprise inspection from Captain America today, now, did I?' Sam pulled his suitcase out from behind the closet door with perhaps more force than necessary, and laid it out flat on the ground. And he wished, maybe more today than any other day, that it wasn't quite so beat up and crappy-looking. 'You can go help Eli with the car, I can handle packing by myself.'

'Of course you can,' said Steve, getting to his feet with a little grunt. 'But why should you have to?'

Sam unzipped his suitcase; shrugged. 'I figure... no need to bother other people with something you can do yourself.'

'I get that.' Steve hauled up four of Eli's bags with one hand like they weighed nothing. Sam swallowed hard. 'But maybe it's not a bother to let people help you once in a while.'

Ok, hold up... what the fuck did he do to deserve being psychoanalysed by Captain America? Sam genuinely wanted to know. Is it cus he was a dick to Eli? It's cus he was a dick to Eli, right. 'Well, the next time I have people I want to help me,' he said, flicking his eyes up, 'I'll think of you.'

Steve's face smoothed out: his smile became bland and cheerful. 'Hope you do,' he said, finally, when Sam looked away. 'I'll see you out there.'

Out in the parking lot, Steve arranged and re-arranged the bags until he could hide no longer. When he shut the trunk, Elijah was leaning against the car, still, with his arms crossed.

A trio of students ran sprinting, sudden, across the quad, laughing and shoving at each other. Steve watched them go with a smile. He glanced at Elijah, hoping to share in the random moment of joy. But Elijah was looking back at him with that look he got sometimes - like he knew something about Steve that Steve had never actually told him.

Steve felt his smile freeze on his face. 'Ah, well,' he said, keeping his tone light, 'guess I'll just head back inside and help Sam with the rest.'

Already his heart was thumping hard at just the idea of seeing Sam again, of hearing his voice, smelling the sunblock and chlorine on his skin.

He'd missed Sam's smile more than he'd even realised.

He hadn't known-- he'd always thought it would get easier, missing Sam, but it never really had. He'd thought he could just... rout out all of the things he couldn't have and couldn't stop missing if he just reached for what he could have. He could give himself to Peggy, the way she deserved; and he could save Bucky from all those years of torture, the way he deserved.

Only - the grief for Sam never really left him. The only thing that changed was that no one else around him really understood.

So he'd swallowed it all down. He'd lived his life as truly as he could, he'd kept his eyes facing immediately forward. And it had all crashed down around him anyway.

And now Sam had just fallen into his life by chance, by pure, beautiful chance - and he still couldn't say a single thing about it.

It was so absurd, so cosmically unfair that he couldn't just be happy for once without it raising eyebrows. He hadn't done anything other than not look depressed and miserable for the first time in eight months. And that alone was enough to make Elijah stare at him strangely. No doubt he'd go reporting on him to his Mom and Dad, which meant it wouldn't be long before Peggy caught wind of it.

Whatever, he thought sourly, it wasn't like Elijah actually knew anything.

'I can go help Sam,' said Elijah, straightening up, cutting Steve off at the knees like it was nothing. 'You keep the car running, ok?' He glanced at his watch and hissed out an annoyed breath. 'Ok, we really gotta head out in the next 20 minutes or my mom will come for your neck.' He made a fwwh noise and sliced his hand in front of his neck as he stared at Steve. 'For. your. neck.'

Steve startled into a laugh. 'You sure about that? You know your mom loves me.'

Elijah smiled back, rueful, the sharp curiosity now all gone from his face. 'Ugh, god, I know,' he said, shaking his head. Steve began to relax.

And then Elijah tilted his head and said: 'Uncle Steve - how did you know about Sam's sister?'

Chapter Text

Sam was still sleeping when Steve woke up, and he remained asleep in the bed while Steve dressed in the near dark. Still getting over that cold, then. So Steve left the blinds shut.

Outside he would see the fog while he stretched, outside he would run into Sarah and let himself smile - but for now, he paused in the doorway of the guest bedroom, and he looked back into the room: he glanced at the air mattress he'd slept on, at the grey covers he'd folded back that morning; he stared at Sam, with his bad back and his stubborn cold, Sam who'd nevertheless tried his damnedest to get Steve to take the bed in which he now slept; he gazed at Sam, breathing deep and even amongst the downy pillows, his face unhurried, finally, unbothered and beautiful, and so very dear to him.

A fog filled Steve's lungs - his eyes they pricked with tears.

And what, he thought, turning out into the hallway, can I possibly give to you?

Chapter Text

Eight months ago, Steve's life fell apart.

He'd woken up early to drop off Leah at the station, for she'd come down and stayed the night after a disagreement with her mother, which happened from time to time. Bucky said he spoiled her rotten. Privately he thought Bucky could stand to spoil his grand-niece a bit more... but he understood why he couldn't anymore. Anyway, that was what he was there for.

So he kissed Peggy's face while she leaned on the doorframe, he worried over her complexion, he bundled her bathrobe up more tightly around her, and he told her he would bring back breakfast. Down into town he drove, down the same roads and streets, over the same bridge he'd driven a thousand times before. At the station he bought Leah a train ticket, and at the food stand outside he bought her a massive cheese danish. For Peggy he got an English muffin (a recurring joke) and a sesame seed bagel with lox and pepper (a recurring favourite). For himself he got a cup of coffee, no sugar and no cream: the way he'd had to re-learn to like.

He and Leah sat on the bench across the station, beneath the sweet birch and red oak, waiting the 32 minutes for the train to come. They watched sleepy-eyed people walk their dogs, wait for buses, park their cars. They talked... oh, about a lot of things, probably. He couldn't fully remember their conversation when he tried to recall the events of that day.

But he had always found it easy to talk to Leah. So, yes - they talked about school, about Taoist philosophy, about her sculptures, her thoughts on socks and sandals, about her mom, maybe even about her dad, who could not help being such a bore.

And at one point Leah had re-wrapped her danish in its wax sleeve and said, 'I think I might be gay.'

Steve had taken her hand and smiled and said, with relief, 'Oh, are you? That's wonderful. Thank you so much for trusting me.'

He remembered he'd been so happy for her, that she was getting to know herself better, that he'd indulged himself when they were down on the train platform, and he'd pinched her cheek like he used to, back when she was little enough to fit in the snug of his arm. She'd scowled, of course, as she always did, and she said he was cheesy, which she was starting to do more and more often these days. She thought he was old-fashioned, and he didn't disagree.

And when they'd hugged goodbye, he'd said, as he always did, 'if you ever need me, you just let me know.'

He'd driven home feeling so proud and so tender that he could have burst into laughter or tears. He found himself getting honked at, paused at green lights, for he was staring at the same old route home like he'd never seen it before.

When he got home the house was quiet. Peggy was upstairs in the bathroom. She'd pulled out the false back to the mirror. She'd found the last vial of Pym Particles.

'You were a miracle to me,' said Peg. 'All this time, I never questioned-- I don't think I quite wanted to know how you found your way back. And all those things you knew - it just never made sense. But I didn't ask. Because I thought that if I asked you would go away. And I was just-- so grateful to stop searching. But you know-- and Steve, you must know: we weren't each other's to find. And that means-- that somewhere... my Steve is still lost. Is still waiting. For me.'

Steve told Elijah the truth. God help him - he told him the truth.

Chapter Text

In the 18 minutes it took Sam to change, stuff his suitcase full of clothes he probably wouldn't wear, and grab Eli's last duffle bag - which had been stuffed full of clothes Eli almost definitely wouldn't wear - Eli and his uncle had apparently taken the opportunity to have a real heart-to-heart.

Or at least, that's what it looked like: Steve was hugging Eli heartily, and Eli was enduring it, patting him on the back with a roll of the eyes as Sam walked down the parking lot stairs.

Looked like he'd missed a real emotional breakthrough. 'Is everything ok?' Sam asked, bemused.

'Yea, no, he's fine,' said Eli, sighing. 'He just expresses all emotion through hugs. Here, let me get those for you.' Eli went to hold out his arm - Steve didn't budge, though, so neither did he. Sam felt a smile tug up onto his lips, watching them.

'Should I come back?' Sam said, grinning. 'Give you guys a moment?'

'No! Uncle Steve!' Eli whapped Steve's arm insistently. 'We have to finish packing the car! No more hugging!'

Steve let Eli go with a sniff, watching him and Sam crowd around the newly popped trunk. 'You know, I reserve the right to get the rest of my hug in at a later time.' He caught Sam watching him, and winked.

'You kidding?' Eli shoved Sam's suitcase down so hard the car went up and down. 'We're good on hugs for the next decade. Hey, don't worry about this one, Sam,' he lifted up his duffle, 'I'll just put this at my feet.' And then he whirled abruptly away, on the other side of Sam. 'A-ha!'

Sam, meanwhile, got yanked backwards into a hug. 'Uh--!' he said, breathlessly. It was not a yelp, no matter what it sounded like. He was just-- surprised to find himself pressed up against Steve's... extremely broad chest. So he'd made a surprised noise. That was not a yelp.

'Oh, sorry,' said Steve, his breath warm against his neck. It was barely a second that he held Sam - then he patted him firmly on the chest, over his heart, before letting him go and advancing on Eli. Sam recovered in silence. 'Stand still, Elijah, and let me hug you!'

'Hell no!' said Eli, now on the opposite side of the car. Steve ducked-down slightly and started circling around on the other side, darting back and forth like some kind of crab.

Sam couldn't help it - he burst out laughing. Steve straightened up, turning to him with a glint in his eye. Like maybe he might grab Sam again.

'What,' he said, smiling, putting his hands on his hips, 'you laughing at me?'

'Oh no, of course not,' said Sam, still laughing. Steve's smile widened.

'Hey, Sam!' called Eli, still ducking down on the other side of the car. 'Random question! What do you think about time travel?'

Steve's face, his whole body went rigid - then he whipped his head around in Eli's direction.

Sam furrowed his brow. What? 'What do I think... about the concept of time travel?'

Eli straightened up and looked over the car at Steve. His eyes widened, and he made an odd-sounding laugh before dashing around the car towards them. Still swinging his duffle around, too, what was even going on?

'Uh!' said Eli quickly. 'I was just kidding! I don't care about time travel! In fact, I hate it! I hate all sci-fi! Don't you hate sci-fi? We don't have to talk about it, ha-ha-ha, we should probably go!'

Sam stared at Eli in concern. Was he having a breakdown?

Unexpectedly, Steve started laughing - oh, it must have been some sort of inside joke or something. Weird.

'I actually love sci-fi,' said Steve, smiling ruefully, 'and Elijah?'

'Yes, Uncle Steve?' said Eli, still half-cringing.

Steve grinned at him. 'I love your sense of humour, too.' And he gave him a quick half-hug.

5.27PM, 7-11. Rockville, Maryland.

'What was all that about sci-fi earlier?' Sam asked. Neither of the public telephones had worked, and Sam was out of minutes, so. Now he was just waiting in the cards and magazines aisle for Steve to come out of the bathroom.

He could feel the cashier staring at them hard from the counter. He wished Steve would hurry up.

Beside him Eli flipped slowly through an Entertainment Weekly magazine. 'Hm, what?' he said, vaguely. He looked up right when Sam was about to repeat himself. 'Oh, oh, right! The sci-fi thing. Ha-ha! Well, really, Uncle Steve can't stand sci-fi, yea, uh, he's the biggest fantasy nerd. He loves Token and, and, and Redwall.' Did he mean J.R.R. Tolkien? And wasn't it his kid sister who liked Redwall? 'So we joke, you know,' Eli coughed into his hand, 'about. Uh. Time travel. Visiting other planets. And...such. For irony?'

Sam stared at Eli blankly for a few moments. Then he shrugged his shoulders, said, 'Ok,' and picked up Shonen Jump.

Eli was truly the worst liar in the world. Honestly - Sam wasn't all that invested in the truth.

Anyway Steve came out of the bathroom pretty soon afterwards. They picked up two packs of Wet Wipes, four small bags of UTZ chips (two plain for Steve, one BBQ and one sour cream and onion for Eli), and a blueberry Slurpee for Sam that Steve got without asking.

'As the democratically elected Map-and-Time-Keeper, I hereby call: Eternal Shotgun!' Eli said, racing outside into the parking lot. Yea, showing him Yu Yu Hakusho had been a mistake.

'You're a despot,' Steve called after him, holding the door open for Sam. 'A tyrant!' He nodded his head at the cashier whose name Sam refused to read or remember.

'Do I look like I like Blueberry or something?' Sam asked, passing by him. His eyes dipped down Steve's neck, into the hollow of his throat. He lowered his mouth onto his straw and flicked his eyes up.

Steve made an odd face - he stepped toward Sam, not noticing the door swinging closed until it hit him in the back and startled him away. 'Oh!'

Sam resisted the urge to laugh. 'Ok there?' he asked, smiling a little.

'Oh - yea - I, uh,' he was so flustered, haha, 'sorry about that,' Steve shook his head, 'I don't think I heard you.' He put an arm out behind Sam and guided them both away from the door, off the sidewalk and into the parking lot. 'What'd you say before?'

Sam sucked down some of his Slurpee. 'Blueberry,' he said, after a moment, licking his upper lip. He looked at Steve while he did it. 'You got me Blueberry.'

Steve smiled at him placidly, raising his brows just so. 'Well, I don't want anything from you in return! If that's what you mean.'

Well, alright then.

Sam huffed out a laugh, shook his head, and walked ahead to the car. He was such an idiot. 'I could've liked Cherry Cola,' he said, looking down at his feet, 'or Green Lime. So I wondered if I give off a Blueberry-liking vibe.' He shrugged. 'That's all.'

He could feel Steve staring at him from behind. He didn't turn around, he didn't ask again. He didn't really want to talk anymore. He just wanted to get back on the road.

Steve walked past him - and gently bumped their shoulders together. 'C'mon, Sam,' he said, low, when Sam looked up. He smiled again, tentatively. 'Who doesn't like Blueberry?'

Hmm. 'I dunno,' said Sam, letting it go, 'but I don't like them, and I don't trust them, whoever they are.' Steve sent him a warm, wide smile. Sam tried not to feel charmed.

'Guys!' Eli called, sticking his head out of the car window. At some point he must've snatched the keys from Steve. 'Hurry up! We're ten minutes behind schedule! We gotta go!'

'Well, then,' said Steve, 'on the road we go.'

6.35PM, CVS. Aberdeen, Maryland.

'You think we should wake him?' Sam said dubiously.

Steve smiled as he stared at Eli, who looked mighty comfortable, snoring away in Sam's sweatshirt. 'No,' he said, 'we can leave the window down, get him some water, too. C'mon.'

They closed their doors quietly, and fell into step together with ease. They stepped into the store in silence, navigating as one around a man and two young children in the Baby aisle, a group of teens in Family Planning, and a woman sitting in the seats near the Pharmacy.

'Eli likes orange Gatorade, right?' said Sam, once they were in the Drinks aisle. For himself, he got the blue, for he was nothing if not a man of consistency.

'I think so,' said Steve, grabbing three waters from behind the other fridge door. He sighed a little. 'I'm actually glad he knocked out, I didn't think he would sleep. I know he's been worried about Gabe.'

Did he mean... Gabe as in Gabe Jones?

'Is--' Sam wasn't sure if he should ask - he and Eli weren't really all that close. But that was more on Sam than anything else. He powered through: 'Is everything ok?'

'Well, we thought so,' said Steve, sighing again. 'We planned to get all the Commandos back together as part of the reunion, as a surprise. We haven't all gotten together in so long. But Gabe--Gabe's not doing so hot. He's been in the hospital since Saturday. Elijah wanted to come up, even, but his parents didn't want him to miss Midterms.'

Sam paused. Saturday? Eli had been out all day on Saturday - messing around with his annoying friends, Sam had assumed. And what had Sam said when he'd looked up from six hours of studying on Sunday and seen Eli waltz in the door, looking tired, but happy and hopeful?

'Man, you're lucky you're a sophomore. Once you get to be a senior, you can't afford to fuck around.'

And still, at some point Eli had talked about Sam with Steve, he'd mentioned that Sam didn't have any plans, he'd worried about Sam staying alone on campus. And Sam called him immature, Sam had yelled at him, Sam had been mean-spirited and petty towards him.

'At what point do we let go of the things that happen to us?' he found himself asking. The cold air from the fridge drifted down unto the floor. Sam shivered, and moved backwards, and let the door fall shut. 'When do we stop punishing the people around us? When do we start being kind?'

Steve looked at Sam in surprise, and then concern. He let the second fridge door close. Then he put the water bottles on a shelf nearby, took the Gatorade bottles out of Sam's hands and did the same. Oh, his hands were warm.

Everything about him was warm, really, and kind - and still, that bitter, testing part of Sam wanted to take all that kindness and, and-- ruin it. Bite into the tender inner part of it till it was craven and desperate. Just to see if he could.

He breathed in sharply; and he felt a deep sense of shame.

'Some things we can't let go,' said Steve. He ducked his head down to meet Sam's eyes. But Sam had to look away. 'But I think we learn to be kind to others on the day we decide we need to try. You know? The day we realise that we're all just. Trying our best. I think that's when we start to forgive. Does that help? I don't know if that helps, I always hated getting generic advice--'

Sam hugged him. That was how Eli said Steve processed all emotion, right? So it was probably ok. And he made his hug dry and, like, manly. No more teasing, like from before.

He leaned back before Steve had even fully reacted. 'It helps,' he said, clearing his throat. 'Ah. Thank you.'

'Oh,' Steve was still blinking at him, 'anytime! Of course. And here - Gatorade for you, water for me. Let's go to the register.' He somehow nearly walked into the shelf. 'Oh, whoops!' His cheeks were very red, now.

'Are you ok?' Sam asked, concerned.

'I'm fine,' said Steve, laughing a little, breathless, 'yea, I'm fine.' So they went to the register, they bought all the drinks, they walked out to the car where Eli was now awake, his seat pushed back, talking on his phone.

The hoodie pressed down on his hair and pushed it into his face as he ended the call. And Sam saw now, now that he thought to look, the sadness, the tiredness on his face. The low-grade worry that might come from being far away from a sick family member.

And still he mustered up a weak little smile for Sam and Steve. 'Hey,' he said, a faint, fake whine in his voice, 'why'd you guys let me sleep.'

'You looked like you needed it, man,' said Sam, handing him his Gatorade through the window. Before he might've dumped it in Eli's lap and not thought anything of it. And maybe Eli might not have noticed, or minded - but that wasn't how Sam was going to measure himself, anymore.

'So, then,' said Sam, sliding into the backseat, 'where to next, O Great Map-and-Timekeeper?'

Chapter Text

They left Bucky in Birnin Zana, and made their way under sparse guard through Ethiopia, through Eritrea, the Sudan, and later to Egypt. A hired plane left them in Athens; a car, a boat and a bus took them to Agrinio. By then it had been four months. Summer agreed with them.

Still - the safe house was filthy. That first day they mostly spent cleaning. Bandile could have left them in Cairo and gone back to Wakanda, her mission completed - but she had chosen to accompany them all the way here. By now she could be nothing less than a friend: she had translated for them, eaten food made with their own hands... She had helped shave the back of Sam's head, where he could not reach. And on the boat, when Sam's memories had overtaken him, she had stroked his back till he was well, keeping all others at bay.

In a shallow basin of cool water, Steve washed his face, his hands and his feet; and he dripped all over the stone watching Bandile and Sam in the garden below. He could not hear their words through the small window - but their bodies, the way that they leaned in together - that he could see.

Good thing the garden wasn't totally overgrown, he thought later. He was helping hang up the newly scrubbed sheets to dry on the clothesline, set up by some former inhabitant some time ago. The wind and heat would make short work of the dripping wetness in about an hour or so. Steve himself was beginning to feel all dried out. It was like there was a desert inside him - as much water as there was around them, there still was not enough to quench.

The day was quite hot, of course, which did not help - but it was also quite beautiful, which did help some. This high up on the hill, Steve could see the shadow of clouds passing across the way, over the gleaming blue lake below. Steve's fingers itched for a pencil, itched for some way to touch the beauty in front of him.

It was a sensation he had gotten very good at ignoring.

'Tomorrow we can go into town and purchase some food,' Bandile said, placing the tomatoes, deftly picked, into the newly washed bucket, beside the cucumbers, above the cowpea bedding. 'Perhaps we can even go exploring. I think I saw some medlars in the farm at the bottom of the hill - I have only ever seen drawings of them before! I hope the landowner will let us pick them, I am quite excited to try them.'

Bandile, Steve suspected, would have made an excellent horticulturist in another life.

'You think they got any 7-11's in town?' Sam said, so casually he could only be joking. 'I would kill to get my hands on a good ol' Blueberry Slurpee.'

Bandile shot Sam a look sheathed in faux outrage. 'You Americans and your sugar drinks!' she said.

'Oh, I see how it is. Suddenly you're too good for sugar drinks,' waving his hands sarcastically; 'All that talk about wanting to help us, wanting to see your mission through, when really all you want to do is extend your Food World Tour. Admit it, Bandi - you're a foodie at heart.'

Bandile tossed a tomato at Sam. Sam plucked it out of the air without missing a beat, taking a huge grinning bite out of it. Down his chin seeds and juice trembled. Dry and thick Steve swallowed spit.

'Just because I appreciate a well-cooked meal--' said Bandile.

'Yea, yea,' said Sam, ducking under the clothesline. A wind caught at the sheets, and they wrapped themselves around him briefly. 'What was that you said? Oh, I will never cook for a man.' He finished off the tomato, his voice absurdly high and British. Steve snorted. 'But you'll sure let a man cook for you, won't you?'

Bandile tilted her head, haughty and sly all at once. 'Of course I'll let a man cook for me,' she said, mouth pressed against her smile. 'Why - what else are they good for?'

Sam raised his eyebrows and laughed. Steve's fingers went slack. He nearly dropped the next sheet, but he caught it in time. And then he paused, for Sam had not noticed either way - and he let the sheet go.

'Oh,' he said, surprised.

Sam turned to him immediately, saw that he'd dropped the sheet into the ground and dirt, and went to him. 'You ok, Steve?' And, as Steve had intended, he began helping him gather up the sheets.

'Sorry! Guess I'm just clumsy today,' Steve said, for Sam was the one who had washed the sheets, and Steve was the lousy prick making more work for him, 'I didn't mean to drop it, I can go in and wash it again.'

'Hey, no worries, man,' said Sam. Some of the laughter was still in his face, in his eyes and his mouth. Again Steve ignored the itch. 'It shouldn't take too long to re-wash. I'll be back in a bit.'

And back up into the house he went, the sun following the long lines of him like a caress.

'That,' said Bandile quietly, 'was not fairly done, Captain Rogers.'

Steve did not even pretend to misunderstand. 'I hope,' he said, reaching down for another two clips, 'that you know how grateful I am to you, Bandile.'

He turned at her silence. In the shadow of the house Bandile sent him a slow smile.

'Grateful, are you?' she said. She turned back to her work. 'And yet you do not seem so.'

'I am grateful,' said Steve firmly. 'We couldn't have made it here without you, without the King's assistance.' He struggled with the next words. 'But Sam and me, we-- he and I,' frustrated all over, 'we have an understanding.'

'Do you,' said Bandile, still smiling down at the soil.

'We do,' said Steve. 'And I think we should be able to handle ourselves from here on out.'

For a long moment, Bandile did not say anything. In the gap of her silence, the wind carried the sound of Sam's singing voice down to them.

'Do you know, Captain Rogers,' said Bandile, 'the Dora Milaje used to be the King's harem?'

Steve turned to her in shock. Bandile laughed aloud, shaking her head. 'You look so surprised! It is not half so sordid as whatever you might be imagining. We were sworn to the King in all things, you see - we were his wives, his protectors. It was a great honour.'

'If--' Steve fumbled. Perhaps Bandile had her own reasons for staying with them - reasons that had nothing to do with Sam. 'If T'Challa is treating you this way--'

Bandile sent him a steel-eyed look. 'King T'Challa had no hand in it,' she said coolly. 'It was King T'Chaka who changed the law. He said that no birthright should include another human body. He said that the Dora had the right to choose any person we desired, that the only oath of fidelity we had to swear was to Wakanda itself. And we would swear anything to the King, for giving us choice above honour.

'But you, Captain Rogers,' she said, 'you are no king. By what right do you demand Sam's fidelity, then? He has given you his time, his trust, his friendship, and now even his liberty - and still you would demand more. But what have you given him?'

Chapter Text

What do you do when your parents die?

Well.

Sarah became very good at acting - she was always good at it, but even so, she improved - she did her best to convince everyone that it was some terrible thing that had happened to somebody else. And Sam never really looked that far beneath the surface, because Sarah never tried as hard with him. She talked about their parents with him, for one, which she didn't seem to do with anyone else - but she did it with this armour of cheer that Sam simply could not get past.

Even now she spoke about them with such ease: you know, Mom would probably say... remember how Dad used to...?

Sam used to always change the subject if she let him - but she didn't do much letting with him, not anymore.

'Well, who exactly is supposed to remember them?' she said once. 'With you acting like they were never here. Tchh.'

Talk about acting - Sarah gave it up as a serious dream after their parents passed. And Sam never really noticed, probably because he didn't pay her much attention. For a long time she was like-- a teacher in his mind. A human, sure, a person you could talk to, and like, and even love - but not someone you thought of outside of that specific role. Definitely not someone whose inner life you thought about at any length.

But she told him directly once, because it had finally occurred to him to think about her, and he asked: 'Didn't you used to love acting?'

She had. She used to slip into character like it was an amazing technicolor coat she loved and was letting you borrow. Once, when she got cast as the lead in their school's fifth grade production of Annie, she wore a fire-engine red wig every night for a week. 'Now don't be nice to me,' she told their parents at dinner. 'I'm very bereft, you know.' Mom and Dad exchanged those looks of theirs, and they gave her an extra serving of broccoli.

They put on a Nativity skit for the church once - at the last minute, Sam got stage fright so bad he made himself sick, so he couldn't play the role of the shepherd coming to celebrate the birth of baby Jesus (as played by a cousin's borrowed baby). So Sarah played the scene through by herself, looking up and speaking the lines so warmly, so tiredly as she smiled at the baby cooing in her lap, that one member of the congregation said it felt like she'd just ducked down into the barn, and Sarah was welcoming her inside.

And on the day of the accident, Sarah had been staying late at school, practising her final college role in a thirdhand dress she wore like August Wilson himself had given it to her; that too-old dress she ripped and tore, falling in the subway rushing home when she got the news.

'Is that why you gave it up?' Sam asked her, years later - that night she drove all the way to Connecticut after quitting her job on Wall Street, her hair hacked off and uneven, the smell of cigarettes in her hugs. That was the night they sat on the back porch together and looked up at the stars, the first night Sarah stopped with the letting; the first night she mentioned therapy to him, and him going back to college. The first time she became a person to him, and not just his sister. 'Because you felt guilty or something?'

'It's not about guilt,' she said. 'Or-- I guess some of it is about guilt. But sometimes, when you lose your people, you lose... you lose a part of yourself you thought you always had. A kindness in you. A goodness. Or maybe just the illusion that you ever had those things in you to begin with. How could I put on-- some... costume when I didn't-- I wasn't even sure who I thought I was. I wasn't even me.'

'Yea, but most people don't know who they are,' Sam said. 'Most people, all they know are their routines. But you have something that can make you happy. You can do something that can make you happy, you don't have to wait for anybody or anything else to figure it out. Do you know how rare that is, how lucky you are? If I could do anything, anything half as good as you used to act, do you think I'd still be living with Aunt Birdie, making minimum wage at the grocery store?'

'Yes,' said Sarah. And she sighed at the look he couldn't hide on his face. 'I really don't think it has anything to do with your ability, Sam. I think you're just scared. And I get it. It's ok to be scared, to want a safety net.

'But this world doesn't care about your fear. You want to waste your life and all the opportunities you could have? The kindest thing this world will do, is let you. And you know the world is not kind. Not to us. So you woke up and you realised you hate your life. Ok, great - so get up and change it.'

'Wow,' said Sam, eyebrows raised. 'That was real inspiring. Should I, should I chop off my hair with some rusty scissors now? Maybe start smoking cigarettes?' Sarah shoved him sideways. 'I, I just want to make sure the transformation's complete!'

Sarah ruffled her hair till it hung down in her face. She sniffed, her shoulders were shaking. Was she crying? No, she was laughing! Sam broke out into a smile. 'I forgot how annoying you are.'

'Yea right, I'm annoying,' said Sam, nudging her in the side. 'Next time you're having a nice night, just minding your own business watching some Smackdown, I'm gonna come all the way to New York just to give you a bad pep talk.' He knocked on the porch step. 'Why, hello, Sarah! You look like you've had a long day - so what do you want to be in life? And why don't you want to be happy? In five words or less, please.' He mimed shoving a mic in her face, she pushed his hand away.

'Alright, alright,' Sarah said, leaning against him, 'point made. No more talk about the future tonight.'

'Or the past,' said Sam, sighing and stretching out his legs. 'Let's just talk about right now. Can we do that?'

Sarah stretched out her legs, too. She was so short! Sam laughed at her. She shoved him again, like she could read his mind. 'Ok, then. So what now, Sam-I-Am?'

And out of nowhere, Sam thought:

You remember Dad started the whole Sam-I-Am thing? But Mom always called me Sammy?

Member Mom used to call you Sarah-Bear?

Member Dad used to always say, Why did you laugh? And you would always say, But I didn't laugh! And Dad would pick you up and tickle you till you were howling with laughter, saying, No, but you did laugh, Sarah! You did laugh!

Do you think, he thought, looking at his sister, we can ever be that happy again?

He swallowed the thought - but slowly this time; slow. And maybe it didn't hurt as much.

'You still vegan or whatever?' he said, eventually, easy as you please. ''Cus I brought back a pint of Rocky Road that's calling my name.'

'Hmm, vegan what?' said Sarah, getting to her feet casually. Sam oh-so-casually got to his feet, too. 'No, I'm sorry, I think you got the wrong number, Vegan Sarah don't live here no more--! Hey! No running! Sam! Aunt Birdie said no running in the house!'

And what did Sam do, when they died?

Sam, in his first year of college, Sam, the secretary of the Black Student Association, the member of ROTC, Track & Field, Golf Club, Baptist Student Union, Queer Union, the volunteer at the soup kitchen, the straight A student, the youngest in every class, the fastest on the track, the loudest one laughing, the Sam who knew exactly how his life would pan out, where he would go, what he would do, who he would be--

that Sam... just stopped.

Chapter Text

7.36PM, Boston Market. Claymont, Delaware.

'Who decided that the world didn't need pay phones anymore after cell phones became a thing?' said Sam, sliding back into the well-worn booth beside Eli. Eli stirred from where he was leaning his head against the panelled wall. 'Some of us have more quarters than minutes, ok?'

'Still trying to reach your sister?' Eli yawned. They were now many half-hours off-schedule - Eli seemed frankly too exhausted to care anymore. He ruffled through his jean pockets, emerging triumphant with his flip phone. 'Just use my phone. And you don't have to go outside if you don't want. I know you're, like a stickler for manners or whatever, but it's not like Uncle Steve will care.'

A stickler for manners? Huh. So that was how Eli saw him.

'Thanks, Eli,' Sam said, dialling. He noticed Eli drooping down toward the table, clearly exhausted. 'Hey, um. You can lean on my shoulder? If you want.' Eli made a vague handwave motion at Sam, presumably in the negative - then he made a silly coy expression, and he tipped his head down against Sam's shoulder.

Wow. His head was really big.

'Sorry my head's so big,' Eli mumbled. 'My mom says I helped pioneer research into the C Section.'

'What are you 19, 20?' said Sam, thoughtful. 'Maybe you'll grow into it by the time you turn 30.'

Eli barked out a laugh: 'HA!'

Everyone else in the restaurant - two men in trucker caps, a white family of four, a woman in black across from a woman in red - turned around in their seats to stare. Sam bit back a laugh, and made serious, determined eye contact with the ceiling, until everyone turned back to their own food.

Meanwhile his call went to voice mail. Ugh, he hated leaving voice messages.

'Uh, hey, Sarah, it's me, Sam. Sam your brother. Ha-ha-ha. Umm. So. I actually managed to get a ride up to New York for break, so I should get to the apartment later tonight. You can call me back at this number, it's, uh--Eli, what's your number?' Eli told him; Sam repeated after him; a waitress began her approach, '--uh, let me call you back.'

'Well, hello there,' the waitress chirped. 'My name is Robin, and I'll be your server tonight. Can I get you two anything to drink?'

'Water's fine,' said Sam. 'And we have one more person with us, hold on a sec, Eli, where's Steve?'

Eli opened his eyes blearily. 'Bathroom, I think? Said he wanted to wash his hands.'

'Um,' Sam said. 'Why don't-- you can come back? Maybe? Sorry about this. I think water's fine for all three of us.'

'I want Sprite,' said Eli, muffled into Sam's shoulder. Sam kind of wanted to shrug him off. 'Please put me down for Sprite.'

'Elijah, sit up straight, for God's sake,' said Steve, out of nowhere, rounding the corner into the main eating area. He slid into the booth with a frown, his long legs bumping against Sam's.

'I don't mind,' said Sam. Between the two of them touching him, though, he was beginning to feel a little-- trapped.

'Sam said he doesn't mind,' said Eli, still leaning very heavy on Sam's shoulder.

'It doesn't matter what Sam said,' said Steve. 'Just because someone lets you do something doesn't mean they want you to do it.'

Eli opened his eyes. 'Well, Sam offered, actually, so what's it matter?'

'It matters,' said Steve, 'because you're being impolite.'

'Uhh,' said Sam, 'I like your bracelet.'

'Oh, thank you! I got it in Taiwan!' Robin said, beaming, holding out the jangly blue thing on her wrist for him to see. It was certainly-- very jangly and blue! Sam made appropriate noises of appreciation; really he admired her equanimity the most.

'Oh,' said Sam, an eye still on Steve, 'you're welcome.'

'Elijah,' said Steve. The depth of his voice, the look in his eye - somehow these things caught in Sam's chest, and he had to sit there in that booth, with his roommate's head on his arm, with his heart pounding in his chest.

'Oh my god, ok! Whatever!' said Eli, sitting up with an incredulous laugh. Sam let out a quiet breath. 'Jesus.'

Steve nodded decisively. 'Thank you.'

Eli ignored him, leaning around Sam a little to talk to Robin. 'Can I have some Sprite, please, Robin?'

'Absolutely,' said Robin. 'So that's one Sprite--'

'And water for us two, please,' said Steve, sending a small smile Robin's way.

Huh.

That was the second time that Steve had ordered for him without asking first.

'Oh, sure!' said Robin. 'I'll get those for you right away.'

'Actually,' said Sam, watching Steve, 'I'd like a Sprite, too, please.'

Steve blinked at him. 'Oh,' he said, 'sorry. I thought I heard you say you wanted water before.'

'Maybe you misheard,' said Sam, smiling vaguely. He turned his smile on Robin, who said she'd be back out soon and then zipped back towards the kitchen.

Steve opened up his menu. 'Yea.' He cleared his throat. He blushed very easily, Sam saw. 'Maybe.'

What to get, Sam wondered, opening his menu. What to get.

The song overhead changed - Sam glanced up when it did, so he saw Steve's whole face light up. 'I know this song,' Steve said, looking between them. 'Either of you know this song?'

Eli didn't look up from his menu. 'Nnnnope,' he said.

Sam listened carefully, tilting his head: the voice sounded kind of familiar...? But he didn't recognise the song. 'Is this Marvin Gaye?' he said. 'I'm pretty sure he was one of my mom's favourite artists.'

'Was one of?' Steve repeated. An incredulous grin. 'What, does she not like him anymore?'

Eli cleared his throat. 'Um...' he said. 'Uncle Steve...'

Sam flicked a glance from Eli to Steve. It was obvious Steve was just joking around. And why wouldn't he joke about it? Obviously he wouldn't know.

'Both my parents died when I was 17,' he said, returning his attention to the list of menu items. Did he want to pair the green beans and corn bread with the roast chicken or with the meatloaf? Hmm.

He noticed the silence only after the song looped back around to the chorus. He looked across the table.

Steve's face had gone chalky-white. 'Both your parents...?' he said, faintly.

Sam quirked an eyebrow. 'Yea,' he said, slowly. 'Hit-and-run.'

'My god,' Steve said to himself, shaking his head. Sam just stared at him, perplexed. 'My god. That's terrible.'

And Steve was quiet and subdued for the rest of their meal.

9.23PM, Off I-95. Robbinsville, somewhere, New Jersey.

The woods were dark, on the side of the road, the night was calm. His business done, Sam zipped up his jeans and trudged back down the little slope of dark green, towards the pulse of the car blinkers.

He could see the bottom of Eli's socks pressed up against the window, where he was stretched out and asleep in the backseat. He turned his eyes to Steve: he saw the shape of his shoulders, slumped, he saw the breadth of him; and the man seemed very small to him.

He kept his eyes on him. He saw on Steve's face the moment he was seen in turn. Steve said nothing, just watched his approach.

When he got close enough to reach, Steve handed him the Wet Wipes. Sam leaned against the car beside him, on his left, and he cleaned his hands with care, dropping the wipes in the rumpled plastic 7-11 bag Steve offered when he finished.

Their shoulders touched, and he met Steve's gaze each time he looked up. And it seemed to him, somehow, that Steve was looking deep into his face, searching for something... but for what, Sam didn't know.

He leaned back on his arms, watching Steve follow the motion, meeting his gaze before letting his own drop, running idly up and down Steve's body, eyeing his arms, his hands; his ring.

He paused. 'Aren't you married?'

A car passed by on the other side of the road - the katydids and cicadas sung their songs. Steve didn't say anything. In fact, Sam thought, Steve hadn't said anything since Eli had fallen asleep in the backseat. Some part of Sam thought he might go ignored.

But Steve didn't ignore him. He nodded. He said: 'I am.'

And then he slouched back against the car, too, mirroring Sam's pose, putting the wipes and the rolled up plastic bag beside himself on the trunk.

Sam nodded. He figured. 'And you still love her.'

The smile on Steve's face started in his eyes. 'From the day that we met.'

It would be nice, Sam thought, if someone made that face when they thought about me.

'That's sweet,' he said. 'So what do you want with me, then?'

9.31PM, Off I-95. Robbinsville, somewhere, New Jersey.

Steve nearly choked. Jesus.

Sam moved so quick here. Steve kept waiting for him to approach a subject patiently, steadily, even sideways, but he never did. He seemed to either strike at something head-on or shut down and disengage immediately. No warning - and Steve was missing all his cues.

And what did Steve want with him. 'Nothing you can give,' he said, eventually. Straightening up when another car drove by - their own car lights, the distant light poles the only light letting them see.

'Nothing you would take, you mean,' said Sam. He sounded... amused?

'It's not yours to give,' said Steve. For Sam was a person that Steve did not know now; a person with an entirely different set of life experiences; a Sam who would be right to hate Steve if he knew just how he'd changed his life. 'So I can't even ask.'

Sam tilted his head, and he made that face that made Steve want to take off running or take him into his arms - the face that said that he was going to hold Steve in place until he figured him out.

'Well,' Sam shook his head, 'either that made no sense or I have no idea what we're talking about anymore.' He laughed a little, almost to himself. 'How do you know what I have?'

Steve bit back a sigh. Damn it. 'I don't,' he admitted. 'I don't.'

'So just ask whatever it is you want to ask,' said Sam, 'and we'll figure it out.' Steve watched him stretch up straight on his feet - he watched Sam notice him doing so. And he thought that Sam might smile at him, or grin, maybe - but instead he just stared at him, bare and wry and thoughtful.

It made him wonder if some part of the smiles Sam had used to give him, before, had been a kind of mask, sometimes. It made his stomach clench, to be so regarded now; his mouth dry, his tongue thick.

'C'mon, then,' said Sam, low. Someone should teach him not to tease. 'Ask.'

'Alright,' said Steve, swallowing. Pretending to misunderstand the question Sam wanted him to ask: 'When were you born?'

Sam told him.

'Ah.' Steve did not allow himself to react. 'Virgo, huh?'

It was an entirely different birthday - down to the day, month and year.

Steve had noticed other differences, slight changes in the people around him, in the way certain events played out - but the biggest change he'd found in himself.

Years ago, in fact, he'd tried his hand at being a diplomat, but found he didn't have the necessary skillset. And without his arrogance to numb him, he knew that the world was neither his microcosm nor his creation; that he could not hope to change even his own race's long and terrible history, let alone changing that of the world's.

And so there were wars here that he knew had never happened elsewhere; and there were wars that had happened elsewhere that had never happened here. Blood, death and pain - there was no protection from any of them. None that he could lend, at least.

And he was tired of fighting, too; these days he could only lend his support to the people who still had the energy for it. He had grown immune to the notion - and had even learned to pull some comfort from it - that he was powerless to effect real lasting change. He was just one link in a long insignificant chain.

Yet he had changed Sam's life.

Despite not even wanting to, he'd somehow-- he'd somehow rearranged Sam's entire existence. He didn't know how to not feel responsible for it - he kept turning it over and over again in his head. Like... was Sam even the same person if he was younger, if his life was entirely different? What even were the odds, biologically speaking, that Darlene could have had the same child in completely different years?

And what were the odds that Steve would find Sam anyway, after decades of knowing not to search?

'How 'bout you,' said Sam.

Steve blinked and awoke from his musings. Pulling himself out of himself, he looked to Sam - the moon only a very little light in the sky behind him.

'You're a July baby, right? July 4, right?' Sam was saying. He made that sweet thinking face again, and Steve was sure now, sure that he would kiss him, that he would have to try. 'A lot of the old history books were pretty insistent it was July 4.'

'Oh, well, if it's in a history book,' said Steve, a smile somehow on his face, 'it must be the truth!'

Sam broke out into a laugh. His laugh was the same, Steve thought, fondly, staring him over: all tooth.

'No,' said Steve, still watching him, 'I was born on July 5, actually. July 5... 1918.'

'1918, huh,' said Sam. The smile gone on his mouth but steady in his eyes: a rearrangement of his features that Steve did not know, that Steve wanted to learn. 'And you didn't get us any kind of AARP discount at the restaurant? Tsk. Selfish.'

Steve held back a laugh, he let it burn his throat, for he knew that if he started with a laugh, he would end it in tears. 'Hey, I'm not selfish!' he protested. 'I got you that Slurpee, didn't I? I'd take care of you.'

'Ooh, big words,' said Sam, shaking his head, 'from such an old man.'

Steve snorted. Goddammit. This kid was impossible.

'C'mon,' said Sam, stepping back from the car, 'that all you got? When was I born?' And he turned and began making his way around the car, to the passenger side, while Steve was still getting his bearings.

'Oh, uh,' Steve grabbed the Wet Wipes and the little trash bag, he followed Sam in parallel, going towards the driver's seat, 'where were you-- where did you, ah, grow up?'

'Harlem, mostly,' said Sam, opening the door and dropping into his seat. Steve did the same, scooching sideways to hear Sam better as his voice got lower: 'DC, for a few years. Then, after I... after I dropped out, I went and stayed with my mom's sister Roberta in Connecticut... Guess I did a lot of growing up there, too.'

Steve hummed to himself thoughtfully, pulling out of Park, pulling out from the side of the road. That was one way of looking at it, he supposed. 'I guess there's no one place we grow up,' he said. 'I guess we never stop.'

'I guess,' Sam mumbled, rolling down the window a little. When Steve looked away from the road, he saw that a change had come over Sam, suddenly - his entire body had turned away.

Steve held out his right hand, over the centre console. 'Sam,' he said, quiet.

Sam turned back to look at him, and Steve saw in his eyes that he had gone somewhere behind walls: somewhere that Steve couldn't reach. His eyes flicked down to Steve's outstretched hand. Steve wriggled his fingers, and smiled when Sam met his gaze again.

'--you should drive with both hands,' Sam said, looking out the window again.

But still he took Steve's hand in his.

Steve felt the heat travel up his chest, his neck, all the way to his face and ears, and he knew his face had to be red. And he was glad that Sam wasn't looking at him, even as he wished he'd never looked away.

'I know,' he said, keeping his voice low and even. Could Sam feel his heartbeat through his hand? Surely, surely he must. 'I should.'

And still he held on.

Chapter Text

Steve hadn't been banned from Darlene's funeral - banned was too strong, too intentional a word.

But he hadn't been invited. He hadn't even been told that she was sick - he didn't know she had passed until months afterward, when Nat finally told him about it.

He'd last seen Darlene when he went to tell them in person what had happened - that Sam was gone now, that he'd failed them, that he would try his best to get him back; to get them all back.

It was the very least, he thought, that he owed them.

Sarah didn't seem to hear him - the minute she saw him standing alone on her mother's porch, she'd just crumpled her face in her hands and cried. (Not Sam, she'd said. Please God, not him, too.) When he'd come in, he'd seen Jodie and Gina watching from the stairs, peeking through the banisters. He'd known not to greet them - he'd known very acutely, looking at their faces, that he was not welcome; that he was not wanted there.

And standing on the grey carpet in the living room, he couldn't help counting back - how long ago had it been, since he'd seen them both last? How long ago since Sam had seen his family?

Darlene did not take the news as a given. She stroked Sarah's back until she calmed down - or quieted down, at least - and sat down beside her on the black leather couch.

'What is it you came to tell us?' she asked Steve. He remembered she'd been wearing her soft purple sweater, the one her students had given to her years ago: BEST TFACHER EVFP

And when he told them, Darlene and Sarah, Darlene took the news with no outward reaction that he could see - for he'd seen Sarah moving out of the corner of his eye, but he had been looking at Darlene's face, he had been watching her to see that she understood. And she'd nodded as he kept talking, repeating the same stupid promises over and over again, she took him gently by the arm, she showed him to the door, still smelling of that same nostalgic rose perfume that had made Steve love her from the first time she'd opened her arms to him.

And the moment he paused to take a breath, now somehow out on their porch step, she looked at him in the eye, with those same eyes she had given her son, and she said, before closing the door in his face:

'I hope, sir, that you will leave our family alone to grieve.'

And that was it. That was the last time he saw her before she-- before she died. Before Steve had the chance to make good on his word, before he had the chance to bring Sam back to his home, to his family.

He found her grave after months and months of searching - Nat wouldn't help: she told him to leave it alone, that he would drive himself crazy - but at last he found it. They were running out of places for memorials, for graves - but he found her, he found Darlene.

On the day he went to visit her, he put on a nice spring suit - it hung a little loose now - he bought a bouquet of peonies, he carried an umbrella that Bucky had given him, one that gleamed where the rain hit it. And his eyes were wet with tears, his chest was filled with sorrow until the very moment that he saw her name: Darlene-Anne Jeffries Wilson.

And his grief thickened into bitterness and rage.

He was not, thought Steve, yours alone to lose.

Chapter Text

10.19PM, I-95, East Windsor, New Jersey.

Steve was not at all what Sam had been expecting.

He was... weird, first of all. He was weird, incredibly white, and way older. He seemed intense, emotional... he'd probably never even been with a guy before. But then Sam'd actually expected that. Also, pressingly, Steve didn't seem to have any sweat glands on his hand? Or - at a glance - anywhere else on his body, whereas Sam was busy dripping into his seat. He'd turned the AC off when Sam had rolled down the window; some dumb stubborn part of Sam didn't want to ask him to turn it back on.

That was another thing. Sam was stubborn, and Steve was just... too nice. Sam's ideal guy was usually more confident, usually less married. Of course, Sarah said he had terrible taste in guys - but she didn't even like men, so what did she know?

It would probably be a disaster to sleep with him, Sam thought. Never mind that it would be impossible, anyway. Eli was a deep sleeper, but he wasn't that--

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. Eli's phone. It had to be Eli's phone, vibrating. It wasn't Sam's, and Steve's was sitting in the coin tray, as still and silent as it had been since they'd set off. Maybe it was dead, even.

Sam didn't get a chance to yank his hand out of Steve's: Steve squeezed his hand once, sweaty palms and all, and then he let him go.

He turned the radio on low as Eli mumbled himself awake - some classical station with bad reception - and generally seemed an entirely different man as he sighed out at the line of traffic ahead of them.

'Sure haven't missed this,' said Steve. Casual, confiding - as if he'd never held Sam's hand; as if they'd never touched.

'h'lo?' Eli rasped, heaving himself upright. 'Mom? Grandpa ok?'

'Oh, yea?' said Sam, flat. 'They probably don't have traffic like this up in White Plains, huh.' They probably didn't even have litter up in White Plains, he thought sourly, eyeing a little shrub in the median, sprouting out of a styrofoam cup. Just plains of white people. Holding hands. Talking 'bout redlining.

'Oh, ummm, hi,' said Eli, 'sorry, yea, I'm Eli, Sam's roommate--'

'--I'm actually in Rochester these days,' Steve said. 'Staying with my niece. Elijah didn't mention it?'

'No, well,' said Sam, distracted, 'he doesn't really talk about you.' And I don't really ask, he mentally added.

'Huh,' said Steve. Hm? Sam turned to look at him, and paused at the watchful expression on Steve's face.

What? Was there something on his face?

'What?' said Sam. 'Is there something--?'

'--yea, huh huh, hold on just a sec,' said Eli, shoving in between them. In his hand he held out his phone. 'Sorry, scuse me - Sam, it's your sister.'

'Sam, hey!' Sarah called. He could hear her breathing hard through her nose; a rustling here in the background, a clatter there. 'Yo, your roommate sounds straight up post-pubescent.'

'Uhh, well. I mean, he is,' said Sam. Did she mean pre-pubescent? 'Most adults are? Anyway, what's up? You get my message?' Continued clattering. 'What are you, tryna cook over there?'

Sarah laughed. 'No, no, I'm just-- throwing some stuff in an overnight bag.'

Sam furrowed his brow. 'What, for me? I already brought stuff for the week.'

'Oh, no,' a very large clatter, 'shit! (Sorry!) Umm... I actually meant - so I was helping a friend out with a thing earlier, and it ran late, and I didn't know you were planning on coming, and--' a feeling of alarm suffused Sam. Was Sarah saying he couldn't stay over? '--uh, you know how Fi and I have been hanging out lately? ummm. Sooo, I was planning to spend the night at herrr... place. But you've got your extra key I gave you, right?'

Oh, ok, so she was still letting him stay over. But wait a minute - 'helping a friend out with a thing'... ? Sarah ain't have no friends! That was what she used to say whenever she auditioned for something but didn't want anyone to know in case she didn't get it.

He knew law school had been driving her crazy lately - he hadn't known she was going to auditions again.

'Sam?' said Sarah.

'I,' Sam said, still off-balance, 'yea, I have my key--'

'So you'll be fine for the night, right?' said Sarah, before he could even finish. Dag, she must really like this Fiona chick. 'You prolly won't even notice I'm gone!, listen, it'll be great, you can make all the kettle corn you want, you can order a pi-zza, stay up la-te, watch pay-per-view, we'll have bolinhos for breakfast --'

'You know I'm like, a fully grown adult, right? I can handle a night alone,' said Sam. It would be close to midnight when he got there, anyway - all the nearby delivery places would be closed.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Steve glance at him.

'Yesh you are a fully grown adult, Sammy-wammy,' Sarah cooed, 'ah-yes you are! ah-yes you are!'

'I'm hanging up on you now,' Sam said.

'Wait, I'm leaving $40 on the counter! Call me from the landline when you get here! I'll be back in the morning!' A very large clatter and clunking noise. 'Shit--!'

Sam flipped the phone shut, and handed it back to Eli, who was using a little light on his keychain to pore over his duffle bag, which seemed to have opened up a little during its time as his pillow. 'Thanks, Eli.'

'Umm,' said Eli, 'no problem.'

'Everything all right?' said Steve. Still in that casual-casual voice.

'What?' Sam said. 'Yea, everything's fine. My sister won't be home when we get there. But I have a key, so.' He shrugged.

A hot, weak wind came into the window, and got into his eyes. Ahead of their car, a nearly empty overpass - beneath it, in front of them, an endless line of brake lights.

Steve was looking at him again, felt like. Sam ignored him, rolling up his window and leaning his head against it. He caught his own expression in the side mirror and deliberately relaxed his face.

It really was fine. Just - he could've spent the night alone at the dorms if he'd really wanted to; saved all this trouble.

11.34PM. 40 W 127th St, New York, New York. 

He could hear voices ahead in trees, deep in houses, on the road, in the pews, the stairs and corridors of an opera house - he knew, dressed too thin in his father's old suit, that he was going to be late - to what he didn't know - but he knew he'd been left behind, trudging all alone, the dust and dirt on borrowed shoes, the distance never decreasing, the darkness all ahead, surrounding and suffocating him, the comfort and cold, the terror inside--

'Sam,' said a voice. He shivered, he opened his eyes, he saw Steve.

And he smiled, for the sight of Steve's eyes was so nostalgic, so familiar to him.

'Steve,' he said, sighing.

'We should be there soon, Ma,' said Eli's voice. Muffled. As if through a glass wall. 'We're maybe 30 minutes away, we're just dropping my roommate off. But I'm glad he's awake. Tell him I love him. Tell him I'll see him soon.'

Steve's hand tightened on his shoulder - his eyes were dark and close.

Again he said, 'Sam,' his voice thin and low. A shudder in his chest.

Sam paused to process - he heard the blinkers clicking, the hum of the AC, the trunk opening up - he sat up and looked all around them; and he recognised through the window, the front of his sister's apartment complex.

'Oh,' he said. 'We're here.' He unclicked his seatbelt and got out of the car. Stretching out his legs, his arms. Ignoring the warmth of his face.

'Hey, Sam,' said Eli, closing the trunk and walking around to him, Sam's suitcase in hand. His face weary and underslept, but ready with a smile for Sam. 'This is kind of heavy, you sure you'll be fine carrying it up?'

'I mean, we've got an elevator,' Sam shrugged, 'I should be fine.'

'I'll carry it, I'll walk you in,' said Steve, slamming his door.

'No, no, it's fine,' Sam protested, 'that's really not necessary.'

'I'm walking you in,' Steve repeated, coming around to their side of the car. He reached across Sam to take his the suitcase. 'Elijah, can you sit in the driver's seat and wait while we go up? I don't want us to get towed.'

'Ehhh-yea, that's fine,' said Eli, pushing his hood down and ruffling his curls. 'But don't take too long, ok? I'm not tryna get a ticket.'

'That's a good point,' said Steve. 'Hm. Why don't you go down the block, see if you can't get parking at that White Castle we saw?'

'I mean,' said Eli, furrowing his brow, 'ok... yea, I can do that.' He made an odd little expression at Steve, then turned back to Sam. 'Anyway, Sam - glad you made the trip up, thanks for letting me borrow your sweatshirt,' he dapped him up, then pulled him into a half-hug, 'and I hope you have a good break. Ok?'

'Same, thank you so much, Eli, I really appreciate this,' said Sam. 'And don't worry about the sweatshirt.' A thought occurred to him. 'Oh hey, before I go - gimme your number, I wanna know how the reunion goes.'

Eli's face lit up. 'Oh, bet, ok,' he said. 'I'll let you know, see if I can't get your sister that autograph, haha.' They exchanged numbers, Eli waved goodbye again - then he got into the car and drove slowly away.

And then it was just Sam and Steve.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment - then they slid in on either side of the Toyota Camry parked on the side of the road, stepping up onto the sidewalk in front of the building.

'Thanks again for doing this,' said Sam, for lack of anything better to say, as they went inside the lobby. He dipped his head to Mataio, sitting behind the reception desk and looking bored as hell with his headphones in. Mataio looked at the two of them with a bare flicker of interest, then he waved at them and went back to his book. 'Um. I really appreciate it.'

Steve pressed the elevator button. 'Not a problem,' he said, slowly. 'You shouldn't spend break just studying. You gotta take some time for yourself, you know.'

Sam laughed - he didn't know he'd been forcing it until he heard how it came out. The elevator dinged, the doors opened up. Somehow his heart was beating very hard.

'Yea, no,' he said, turning around inside the elevator. 'I know. I'll try not to study this week, haha.' The bronze interior of the elevator doors, and the distorted reflection they showed back at him, made him wince, as always.

'Ugh,' he said. 'I hate these doors. They're like funhouse mirrors. They always make me look like I'm a million years old.'

'Yea,' said Steve, faintly. When Sam glanced at him, he saw that Steve was staring at his own reflection, all the way on the other side of the elevator as Sam's.

The elevator ascended each floor in silence. Sam bit the inside of his cheek, staring up at the little floor display: 1... 2... 3... and then 4. Sarah's floor.

The elevator dinged, the doors opened - the narrow hallway stretched out before them.

'Do you want tea, or water, or anything?' said Sam, almost stumbling a little exiting the elevator. Steve steadied him with his free hand, his palm warm and firm against Sam's lower back - Sam shied away automatically, walking sideways for a moment as he turned to Steve. 'Maybe use the bathroom?'

'No,' said Steve, after a pause. 'I'm alright.'

There was this gentle little smile on Steve's face, Sam saw, that seemed like its own kind of goodbye. And it felt like some kind of moment was closing around them, or passing them by - like they might never see each other again the way they did tonight, even if they met again. Like Sam might never see himself again the way he could today.

Sam fumbled with the keychain in his pocket in front of Sarah's apartment, the keys in his hand, the key in the door - the door open, the silence, the darkness of the place. The yawning emptiness inside.

Sam took his suitcase from Steve in silence, stepping into the apartment and placing the case up against the wall. And he turned in the doorway, and Steve was just standing there still smiling, smiling.

Sam leaned against the doorway and ran his eyes all over Steve's distant face - and he managed to find a smile within himself along the way.

Tomorrow morning he would make sure to laugh with Sarah about this, he would joke about Captain America flirting (badly!) with him, he would bury the part of him that thought he saw something similar in Steve, a loneliness, a weirdness, a need that must not be there.

After all, no matter what Sam thought... no matter what he'd read or watched... at the end of the day, he didn't really know Steve.

He took in a breath, he kept on his smile, and he said, 'You leaving me, then?'

'You leaving me, then?' asked Sam, leaning against the doorway. Behind him all was dark in the apartment.

'Yes,' said Steve, smiling still, somehow. He raised his hand to say goodbye - his hand went up and kept going, it reached out across the distance and tilted Sam's face up.

Sam looked at him, he looked him in the eyes; and Steve was struck silent for some moments, regarding him.

'--If you ask me to,' he said, finally.

Sam's throat bobbed up and down - his chest rose shallow as he pulled Steve into the apartment, he pushed himself into Steve's arms up against the closing door, he crumpled his hands into Steve's shirt.

He smelled a little bit like sunblock, still, a little of sweat, and that cologne that Steve didn't recognise.

'Have you - been with,' Sam said, his voice muffled and slow, 'a man before?'

'No,' said Steve, kissing the crown of Sam's head. In his pocket, his phone buzzed once. He ignored it. 'You would be my first.'

'Well. You're not mine,' said Sam, pulling back.

'Jeez,' said Steve. He wanted to laugh. It was the kind of thing you were supposed to laugh at. 'You sure know how to make a guy feel special.'

'You shouldn't feel special,' said Sam, watching Steve closely. 'The first guy I slept with was married, too.' At Steve's stare, he elaborated: 'He was my aunt's neighbour, he owned a grocery store - he helped me get a job.'

'Oh,' said Steve calmly, 'did he hurt you?' Sam said his parents died when he was what, 17? And then he moved up to Connecticut to live with his aunt. So - he'd been a kid, basically.

A grocery store owner from Connecticut... who lived next-door to-- what had Darlene's maiden name been? Jeffries. Roberta Jeffries.

A man like that wouldn't be that hard to find.

Sam sent him a long, scrutinising look. 'He wasn't very nice,' he said, finally. 'But he never promised me anything. I fell in love-- I misunderstood all on my own.'

Grocery store, Connecticut, Roberta Jeffries. 'Ah,' said Steve, cradling Sam's face in his hands again. Sam looked at him with those eyes - those eyes.

'Don't make that face,' said Sam, slipping out of his hold. He glanced over his shoulder at Steve as he hung up his jacket. 'You don't have to worry. I won't--,' Steve bumped up behind him, kissing his neck, behind his ear; stroking his hand up and down Sam's abdomen, listening to his voice falter: '--misunderstand with you.'

Steve hummed, pulling Sam back tight against him, feeling him quake. He wasn't worried.

Sam shrugged him off and stepped away. 'I don't think we have time for all that,' he said, straightening out his shirt. It made Steve want to rip it off him. 'Maybe just a handjob?' He jerked his head down the hallway. 'Bedroom's that way.'

'A handjob, huh,' said Steve, licking his lips. Again his phone buzzed - again he ignored it. 'That's what you're going for?'

Sam looked up from his shirt, and didn't speak, not when Steve stepped closer, not when Steve held his face with one hand. 'You really think you'll be satisfied with just a handjob?' He ran his thumb along Sam's lower lip - inside his mouth - and again wet along his lip. 'Be serious, Sam.'

'--what? Why wouldn't I be--' said Sam, stepping back, 'satisfied with just that?'

'Well, because,' said Steve, 'somehow... you knew where I lived.'

Sam paused. 'So?' he tried, eyeing Steve warily. 'It's-- there was a research project. For school.'

'Hm,' Steve mused, 'no, I don't think so. Most public information about me is highly redacted - it would take some serious research to find my address. And you already said Elijah didn't tell you. And those history books you mentioned before, the ones with my birthday misprinted - Seven Stripe Man, Birth of a Hero, Our Man on the Ground - those are all out of print. I sued the original publishers into bankruptcy because of all the lies they printed. You don't come by information like that easily. Not without time, not without energy and effort. And you did all that... and you're just gonna send me away after, what - a handjob?'

Sam's eyes began to gleam: some part of Steve quickened, some part of him felt pleased to have guessed right - but the rest of him immediately regretted teasing him.

'Don't make that face,' Steve said, pulling Sam close. 'You don't have to cry, please. It's alright.' There weren't words to express how much he liked it, how heady the satisfaction sat in his chest, that Sam had been out there somewhere, thinking about him, before they'd ever even met.

'I'm not crying,' said Sam, pushing back, pushing Steve away. 'Look, I never-- I never thought that I would actually meet you, I don't think I really wanted to meet you. And it wasn't even deep like that to begin with-- it was just... a research project, like I said - something to do when I wasn't searching for a job. It didn't start out like that.

'My Aunt just said I was in the house too much, so I started going to the library. And it was July when I started going... and the library was doing this, this patriotic theme with the books on display upfront.

'And there was a photo of you on one of the books,' Sam cast his eyes down, 'in uniform, of course - there aren't really many clear photos of you like,' he gestured at Steve, 'this. And I recognised you... so I started reading. And then I found another book about you, a longer book, and I kept reading. And eventually I'd read all the books and newspaper articles about you at that library, so I had to find more.

'I didn't-- I didn't see it as a bad thing. You just,' he raised his eyes to the ceiling - Steve took the opportunity to stick his hand in his pocket and turn off his phone, 'you made me happy. You were like a shield, for me. My one good thing in life. The one thing I knew that could make me happy. I really felt like I knew you.

'But I don't know you,' he said, looking at Steve. 'All those books and articles and movie reels might as well have all been lies for how well they've let me know you. I don't know you at all.'

I wish I knew you, Steve thought, drawing him near in the dark. I wish you hadn't been all alone. I wish I could cut the tongue out of your neighbour's mouth.

Aloud he said: 'So what do you want from me now?' He thought he might need to be cruel; he suspected that being kind was not what Sam needed from him. 'I can make you come with my hand, my mouth, whatever you want. It doesn't have to take long. I can be quick, I can be quiet. And then I can leave.' He saw the walls drawing back up behind Sam's eyes - he drew his hand up and pinched Sam in his ribs before they could, shook his head at Sam when he flinched and looked at him in wide-eyed shock. 'None of that, now. Be honest with me. What do you want?'

Sam's eyes gleamed, his face seemed to withdraw from its fear. How beautiful he was - how perfect for Steve. His arms went easy around Steve's neck, his legs around Steve's waist, as Steve hefted him up. Steve could feel his cock jutting out hard in his jeans. He wanted to strip Sam piece by piece by piece. He wanted to lick him open till his cheeks were wet with tears.

He looked up at Sam and held his gaze, he walked them both towards the hallway, towards the bedroom. He heard in what must be Sam's jacket a phone buzz faintly. He ignored this. Let them call, let them come - he didn't care.

He watched Sam look his face all over, close, careful; like he knew there was still some secret part of Steve; like he wanted him all the same.

'I want you to come inside me,' said Sam. 'I want you to fill me up.'

Chapter Text

'Will you look at me, Steve?' Sam said, pleading. 'You haven't looked at me this whole time. I'm gonna start thinking I did something wrong.' His little laugh echoed down the long hospital hallway. And they could hear, in the silence, in the room with the charred door, Bruce and Val talking to Thor.

'Of course you didn't do anything wrong,' said Steve, leaning against the wall. His eyes fell down somewhere left of Sam's shoulder. He wondered how long he'd have with Sam, with Bucky off pretending to search for bandages. It was clearly more of a ruse than anything else... one that Sam and Bucky had communicated with one of those new looks of theirs. 'I'm looking at you. I can see you.'

Sam took in a breath - Steve looked down at his chest, he watched it rise and fall; and he felt his aloneness like a searing breath.

'Maybe,' Sam said, 'maybe-- after you come back. And all this-- quantum craziness is over. We can sit down and talk. I promised Bandile I'd make her dinner again when this was all over... and we'd both love it if you were there.'

'Yea.' Steve let out a soft breath. 'After I come back.'

Bandile wouldn't love it, newly returned or not, Steve knew, and of course he wouldn't love it either. Watching the two of them together. Trying to figure them out.

But more important than that - Steve knew that if he went to some dinner feeling like how he felt now, he would take Sam into his room, and he would take Sam for his own.

And Sam - as he'd let Steve do everything that had upended the life that he'd worked so hard to build - might just let him. And if Steve still had Sam to kiss and bite and soothe, after everything he'd taken from him - if after all of that, Sam still let him in further, Steve knew that all his rotten, twisted parts would dig into that sweet, tender letting and crack it open even wider.

What was love? Love wasn't this selfish, mean thing he felt for Sam, that he'd never felt with anybody else, where he didn't want anyone else looking at Sam, touching him, making him smile. It wasn't wanting to make Sam curl-up and cling, when anyone talking to him twice could tell that he was a man who deserved laughter and romance.

And it wasn't how he felt now - unable to fully breathe, unable to look Sam in the eye. A part of him felt that all his mercy, all his restraint had been lost to him somehow. He didn't want to be gentle with Sam - and what scared him most was that he couldn't find the right amount of fear over that anymore, when that was what Sam needed most right now.

And what did Steve want, right now? He wanted to rip away Sam's clothes, to lick away the clotted sweat and fuck into him right there - he wanted Sam's body as his burial, he wanted to drink in Sam's fear, he wanted Sam as his own and no other's.

Was that love?

Love was respect. A thing between equals - a thing that you gave. And wasn't Sam his equal? No-- wasn't Sam his better? And hadn't he known that within minutes of meeting him, the way he so easily tried to help a perfect stranger? The sweat on Sam's brow, the softness of his sweatshirt, the sweet humour in his face when he tried to offer Steve something to make him smile - Steve still got hot in the face thinking of it. The way Sam had so casually opened himself up, and admitted that he understood pain. Did it make sense that Steve had wanted to strip away all Sam's progress, all their differences, and put them in the same bed, in the same pain, and see what Sam's face looked like when all he knew, all he wanted was Steve?

If that was all he could give Sam, wasn't he just taking more from him in the end?

But at least... at least he understood now. When he'd convinced himself it was love, that it was right, that they'd simply figure it out, that was when he would've just talked Sam into his arms.

But five years was a long time to lie to oneself. And now he knew the truth, even if he didn't fully understand why it was true - and why it was true with Sam, of all the people in the world. Maybe in Steve's mind this-- strangeness he felt for Sam was his way of correcting some perceived imbalance; maybe he secretly thought Sam was beneath him, after all.

If it came down to it, and he really-- if he really went through with it... how could he know he would treat Peg better? Was it that he respected her more? Was it that he thought she deserved more from him?

Well, what did Sam deserve?

Sam shifted in that dusty, plastic chair. It squeaked, Steve flinched, and Sam took Steve's hand in his.

He looked at him - they looked each other in the eye.

'After you come back,' Sam said. 'Then we'll talk. Ok?'

Steve swallowed. Sam didn't deserve this - he didn't deserve someone who could even wonder about these things. But still he nodded.

'Am I allowed to hug you before then?' said Sam, pulling himself up, still holding Steve's hand. 'Or are you gonna cry all over me?

'I'm not gonna cry,' said Steve. His voice was thick in his throat.

'You look like you're gonna cry,' Sam teased, opening his arms. 'That's all right, man - I missed you, too.'

The idea that it could be just a simple thing between them - that Sam could just be his friend, whom Steve had sorely missed - Steve pretended, for the longest minute of his life, that that was true.

So he took Sam into his arms: he felt the shift of his body beneath his hands, he listened to the sigh of his breath, the beat of his heart; he took Sam whole into his arms, the memory whole into his heart -

and then he let him go.