Archive of Our Own ^beta

Steve had been so focused on bringing Bucky back, bringing Bucky home, that he hadn’t really paused to think about what that might mean. He hadn’t had a plan in place for taking care of the trigger words or for making sure that metal arm didn’t hold any surprises for them.  

The furthest he had thought was ensuring his friend’s safety and comfort.  A room set up for him in Steve’s apartment.  Clear sightlines through what windows the room had, furniture positioned in ways that Steve’s wartime brain still knew to be the most easily defensible positions.  Bedding and a small collection of clothing that was soft enough, comfortable enough, to not aggravate skin that Steve knew from experience was made just slightly more sensitive after the ice.  As far as he could tell, that particular ache was mostly psychosomatic, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

His kitchen was stocked with a variety of easily digestible food for a stomach that hadn’t been allowed proper food for decades, all catered to a supersoldier metabolism. The rest of the apartment had been checked over and the room made ready for the inevitability of Bucky needing to stash weapons in various locations in order to feel safe.

His home was ready.  Steve had put considerable thought on that part.  But he could, belatedly, admit that he had overlooked a lot in his rush to bring Bucky home.  Thankfully, the rest of his team seemed to fill those gaps before he even realized they existed. 

Tony, of course, had jumped on the opportunity to dig into Bucky’s arm,  scanning it thoroughly and promptly drawing up schematics for something better.  Bucky took Tony’s grumbling and sarcastic jibes in stride, eventually throwing them back with an ease that echoed loudly in Steve’s memory. Natasha had, seamlessly as ever, stepped up in offering her own experiences with breaking through conditioning.  Clint’s frequent antics drew laughter from Bucky that Steve hadn’t heard in ages.  Bucky even meshed well with Bruce and sparred with Thor.  

It was great.  Steve loved how his entire team seemed to give the same concerted effort to helping Bucky that they had initially given to helping Steve get caught up and somewhat comfortable in the new century. 

He wouldn’t admit to anyone that he hated it, too.  He wasn’t even entirely sure why he disliked it so strongly.  He was happy that Bucky was comfortable and safe around the team.  Of course he was.  Bucky being happy sometimes felt like all Steve wanted.

Maybe it was just down to the fact that Steve wound up feeling useless.  What did he have to offer?  Other than being a halfway decent roommate. Despite all the very obvious differences, it almost felt like back before the war.  Bucky doing everything and Steve never being enough of much of anything to help despite wanting to be able to more than anything. 

But that wasn’t really fair either, was it?

Steve supposed it didn’t help matters that Bucky started favoring the Avengers themed clothing that had started being sold almost immediately following the battle against the Chitauri.  Iron Man and Black Widow hoodies.  Hulk and Hawkeye sweatpants.  Thor t-shirts.  Plural on every one of them, and Bucky wore them all the time.

No Cap gear.  Not a one.

That probably shouldn’t have irritated Steve any more than the rest of the Bucky-centric irritation.  It did.  Oh boy, did it.  He did his damndest to hide his scowl whenever Bucky showed up on the commonfloor, inevitably wearing some sort of merchandise featuring one or more of Steve’s teammates. He wasn’t sure how successful he’d been at hiding it, though.  Not very, if Natasha’s amused smirk was any indication.

She took the seat next to Steve on the next movie night.  

Bucky usually sat there.  Steve watched a little miserably as Bucky gamely dropped into the open spot between Tony and Thor, immediately kicking up conversation about who-knew-what.  Steve had to fight himself hard not to resent Natasha for that.  Which was stupid.  He knew that it was stupid.  He adored Natasha, even if she was a pain in his ass the vast majority of the time.  It was very possible that her incessant need to tease him was a large part of why he adored her.  It didn’t make any sense to be grumpy with her now.

Natasha nudged him pointedly until Steve snapped out of his spiraling thoughts.  He huffed in frustrated, reluctant amusement and shifted in his seat, wedging his back into the corner of the couch and resting his arm over the back cushions.  He knew the routine.  Natasha smirked and settled back against him. Feet plopped in Clint’s lap on the opposite side of her and reclined comfortably into Steve’s side.

It was comfortable and familiar.  He’d always loved the little shows of trust, the casual contact that never failed to make something inside of him relax.  It seemed like it still worked, to some extent.  Steve very intentionally didn’t allow himself to look across to the other couch. He could see enough in his peripheral. 

“Are you going to tell me, or am I supposed to guess?” she asked a few minutes later once the movie had started and the rest of the team was suitably distracted.  And because Natasha was Natasha, kept her voice low enough that it was unlikely to be heard by anyone she didn’t mean to hear it.

“What am I supposed to be telling you?” Steve asked in return.

“Oh, I don’t know, Steve,” she said, lips quirking into a small smirk. “Maybe the reason why you’ve been glaring a hole in the side of James’ head for the last week? Trouble in paradise?”

“What?” he frowned, shaking his head slightly in disagreement. “No, I haven’t.”

“You have,” Natasha countered. 

“It’s nothing, Nat,” he sighed, sinking back into the couch.  He hadn’t even realized that he’d tensed up when she started her interrogation.  He knew that she’d noticed, though.  Natasha noticed everything.  “It’s stupid and really not worth mentioning.”

Natasha hummed and reached back to pat his thigh but didn’t speak further.  Disbelieving and patronizing, Steve realized with a resigned sigh.  Slight movement from the corner of his eye drew his attention and Steve looked up, despite his firm intention of not doing exactly that.  He blinked in surprise to find Bucky watching him.  Familiar grey eyes narrowed and flicking from Natasha and where her hand still sat on Steve’s leg, just above the knee, and then back up to Steve’s face.

Bucky met Steve’s eyes and his jaw clenched while his expression went flat and blank.  He every pointedly broke the eye contact and looked back to the movie, arms crossed in front of him as he tipped to the side to mutter something to Tony. Tony laughed at whatever it was and responded just as quietly, elbowing Bucky in the side.

Even knowing that he really, really shouldn’t, Steve looked a moment longer.  Long enough to linger on Iron Man’s faceplate staring back at him from where it stretched across Bucky’s chest.  That was enough to force Steve’s own eyes back to the movie.  He didn’t know what was happening, hadn’t been able to focus on it long enough to gain any sort of idea. It didn’t matter though, pretending to watch a movie was better than staring across the living room at Bucky like some sort of creep.

“God, you’re such an idiot,” Natasha muttered, voice full of fondness and exasperation.

“I didn’t do anything!” Steve protested in a quiet hiss.

“You are so lucky, I love you,” she huffed. “We’re talking after the movie. Don’t you dare try to sneak off. I will find you and I think you’d rather have this conversation in private.”

“Whatever you say, Nat,” Steve responded with another sigh.  

“And stop glaring at Tony,” she continued as though Steve hadn’t already agreed. “You can thank me later.”

Thor’s booming laugh distracted Steve and he automatically looked over once again.  He froze, stunned still by the wide, shit-eating grin on Bucky’s face, eyes bright and amused. Not as rare of a sight as it had been even just a few weeks ago, but still more than enough to make Steve’s heart lurch.  For a moment he didn’t care that he, once again, hadn’t been the one to draw it out.  He was fairly sure there wasn’t a force on earth that was capable of preventing the warm feeling rushing through him at the sight or the resulting smile of his own.

Bucky met his eye again and something in that wide grin shifted, softened.  Steve felt his own smile change in kind, all the fondness he’d ever felt for his dearest friend flooding forward all at once.  Not helped in the least when Bucky winked cheekily before returning to his whispered conversation.

Natasha’s quiet laughter drew his attention and he frowned. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re laughing at me?” he asked.

“Because I am,” she answered, tipping her head enough to look up at him. “If I can’t laugh at you, who can I laugh at?”

Steve huffed, amused despite himself, and moved his hand from the back of the couch long enough to ruffle her hair.  He grinned in response to the half-hearted glare that earned him, biting back a wince when a sharp elbow jabbed him in the ribs. They settled back down to attempt to watch the movie again but Steve still couldn’t bring himself to focus on it.  Not really and not for any real length of time.  

His thoughts wandered, not lingering on any one thing long enough for it to really take root.  Fingers combing lazily through Natasha’s hair, gently rather than the intentionally rough mussing from before, and smiling absently when she tilted her head ever so slightly into the touch.  For all his initial, inexplicable irritation when she had taken the seat next to him, he couldn’t hold onto the upset and didn’t really care to try. 

The casual comfort that their friendship had slowly evolved into had been something that Steve hadn’t realized how much he needed and craved until it happened.  His comfort with Natasha had actually served to break through some of the awkward hesitation around the rest of the team as well.  

Steve frowned thoughtfully and then guiltily.

Up until recently, Steve had stopped holding back from the more tactile comfort of his friendships.  Natasha was far from the only one that occasionally leaned against him or used him as their own personal pillow during movie nights.  Hugs. Ruffled hair--Tony and Nat, in particular, seemed to like the hair thing above even the hugs, Steve had taken note of that early on. The occasional friendly rough housing.  It had all become commonplace.  

And Steve loved it. 

Absolutely and entirely. He would have sworn that it was something that he wouldn’t trade for anything.

So why had it changed?  Why had he stopped and retreated back to the careful distance?

He knew it was him.  His fault, his doing.  And he was far from surprised that Natasha was, yet again, the one to force the issue and nudge things back toward their proper place. But why had he done it to begin with? Why had he withdrawn?

He sighed and tipped his head low enough to speak quietly in Natasha’s ear. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

Her head tilted to bump his and she gave a small smile. “Welcome back,” she responded knowingly. 

Steve gave a quiet huff of guilty amusement at the words but settled back again, eyes locked on the screen but paying it no attention.  His fingers continued playing idly with strands of red hair as he turned over his thought processes in his mind.  Everything kept circulating around the same questions he had already asked.  When and why had everything changed? Why had he let it?  What was it that drove him to step back from one of the absolute best things that he’d found in this new life?

He hated that all of those answers seemed to come back down to Bucky.  Bringing Bucky back to the tower and the team’s concerted efforts to ensure that he was as comfortable as he could be.  But that, if anything, should have increased Steve’s fondness, drawn him in closer.  Not sent him backtracking.  It made no sense.

Bucky’s introduction to Avengers merchandise. Well, everyone but Steve’s, to be specific.  That and the useless feeling that Steve loathed but couldn’t seem to escape.  That, somedays, it felt like he would bend over backwards and turn himself inside out just for one of those smiles that never failed to steal his breath.  Yet seemed to be worn so easily for everyone else.

Was it that disgustingly simple?  He was jealous? Of what? That Bucky managed to find the same peace that Steve had? That he actually seemed happy here?  Wasn’t that exactly what Steve had wanted and hoped for when he’d dove into bringing Bucky home?

Steve felt his stomach roll and rebel at the thought.  He drew a slow breath and gently but firmly nudged Natasha until she sat up enough that he could move from behind her and get to his feet.  He quickly left the lounge without a backward glance, too busy trying to ignore the way his skin crawled and the heavy weight of self-loathing that worked its way into his mind.

There was a brief moment where raised voices followed him to the elevator but Steve didn’t have the room among echoing thoughts to pay them any mind.  When the elevator doors opened, Steve quickly entered, gripping the railing tight--not too tight, he’d learned that lesson months ago and Tony still hadn’t let him live it down--and pressed his forehead against the wall, exhaling slowly but heavily.

It wasn’t until a hand came to rest on his back, just between the shoulderblades, that Steve realized that he wasn’t as alone as he had thought.  He jolted in surprise and jerked his head around to see who was there, who was touching him unprompted.  Only to blink dumbly in confusion, any and all words evaporating off his tongue and out of his mind in an instant.

Bucky didn’t say anything either.  For a long moment they just stood there in the elevator rising to their floor, staring silently at one another.

Steve bit back a sigh and dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“For?” Bucky asked, shuffling closer and the hand on Steve’s back ran slow strokes up and down his spine.

“I’ve acted like an ass lately,” Steve acknowledged. “I don’t really have any good excuse.  Not one that makes any sort of sense.  I’m just...I’m sorry, Buck.”

Bucky didn’t verbally respond.  Steve warily looked up again and watched as he visibly hesitated for a moment before his jaw set and he used the hand on Steve’s back to guide around and forward.  Steve’s confusion lingered until Bucky huffed in amusement and hugged him tight.

Oh.  Bucky was hugging him?  Bucky was hugging him.

Steve jerkily wound his arms around Bucky’s waist in return and sank into the contact.  With a shaky sigh, he let himself tuck his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck and shoulder. He knew that he was probably clinging too tightly.  Likely showing far too much of his conflicting thoughts and feelings.  Bucky was like Natasha in that, he noticed everything.  Had been even before everything he’d gone though, Steve doubted that the decades of training and conditioning had lessened his observational skills any.

“You’ve always been a bit of an ass,” Bucky said, quietly though his tone was far too fond and amused. 

“I don’t mean to be,” Steve protested.

“I know it,” Bucky agreed. “Gonna tell me what that was all about?”

Steve winced, guilt rushing forward again.  He started to withdraw but Bucky’s arms tightened around him, making it clear that he wasn’t going anywhere.  Steve sighed and sank into Bucky’s hold again.  He probably should be bothered, at least a little bit, by the way the contact seemed to settle the whirlwind of thoughts reverberating through his mind. It was likely that as soon as they inevitably parted ways again, it was just going to add to the long list of questions that he had no answer for. 

Not to mention, Bucky was still waiting for the answer to his own question.  An answer that Steve wasn’t entirely sure how to go about explaining.  He swallowed thickly and shrugged. “It’s nothing, Bucky,” he said, knowing he sounded as resigned as he felt. “Nothing worth mentioning.”

“Don’t think I bought that back before either, did I?” Bucky mused.  The elevator doors opened to their floor and Bucky stepped back from the hug but let his hand shift from Steve’s upper back to the lower and guided him off and to their apartment.

When the door closed behind them, safe in their own space, Steve had the urge to disappear into his room.  Put the unanswered questions and realizations that made no sense at all to the back of his mind.  

“Think we need to have a talk, Stevie,” Bucky said thoughtfully, possibly sensing Steve’s desire to flee and stopping it before it could take root. 

“We do?” Steve hedged.

“Could always start by explaining why you’ve spent the last week bouncing between glaring at me and avoiding me,” Bucky responded as he dropped gracefully onto the couch.  He nodded pointedly to the opposite end and Steve sighed before following the unspoken direction and sitting.

“I’m sorry Bucky,” he answered quietly. “I didn’t realize that’s even what I was doing until just a bit ago.  Was doing it to everyone, wasn’t I?”

“Yup,” Bucky nodded shortly. “Had to assure Tony that you were probably working yourself into a tizzy over nothing like usual and he wasn’t at fault.”

Steve ran a hand over his face and rubbed at the back of his neck before dropping it into his lap again. “I’ll-I’ll talk to him.  Set things right.  I promise.”

“I know you will,” Bucky said softly. “Never been the sort to leave that sort of misunderstanding sit.  Might help to come clean about why you were doing it to begin with.”

Steve hesitated.  How in the world was he supposed to admit that he was jealous? Especially without even knowing why he felt that way?  How was he supposed to look Bucky in the eye and confess that he’d gotten pissy with everyone because of the serious and very noticeable lack of Captain America merchandise in Bucky’s ever rotating wardrobe?  That sounded incredibly stupid and petty even in his own mind.

Steve very intentionally did not let his eyes drop below Bucky’s chin.  He didn’t need to see more of Iron Man’s judgement just now, thank you.

Why the hell was he so fixated on Bucky’s clothing anyway?  

In the end, he compromised.  Choosing to disclose some of the reasons behind his behavior, but carefully avoiding the rest of it.  

“I don’t know, Buck, I just,” Steve cut himself off with a sigh before forcing himself to continue.  He owed Bucky an answer, even if it wasn’t a full one. “I’ve gotten to feeling a little useless, you know?  I’m grateful that they’ve all--that they’ve stepped up and reached out to you.  Helped you in ways that I can’t.  I just...I guess I just wish there was more I could do.”

“Steve,” Bucky said seriously. “You got me out of there. You broke through everything they did to me and you got me out of there. Brought me back here and made sure I was safe. How the hell is that being useless?”

“I feel like I should be doing more,” Steve admitted, voice as unsteady as he ever allowed it to be. “I want to do more.  With you.  For you. I just don’t know what more I can do.  I don’t have much more to offer.” 

Bucky was silent for a long moment, eyeing Steve thoughtfully.  Steve fought the urge to shift uncomfortably under the focus.  Once upon a time, Bucky knew him well enough to read every damn thought he had right off his face.  Now really wasn’t the best time for him to remember that.

Just in case though, Steve very carefully did not glare at Iron Man like he wanted to.  No need to broadcast his weird dislike of the t-shirt so blatantly.  Nor did he allow himself to acknowledge that, Iron Man shirt or no, it fit Bucky’s frame extremely well.  Which was, Steve thought, probably a very odd thing for him to notice and even stranger for him to verbalize.   

Steve had always known, without doubt or question, that Bucky was an exceptionally attractive man.  Had come to terms with it ages ago.  It was probably the only thing in their history that Bucky seemingly hadn’t managed to read right off his face.  Steve had never really known whether to be thankful or disappointed by that.  He still didn’t, if he was honest.

“Steve,” Bucky said, tone firm but urging and insistent. Steve blinked and jerked his eyes back up from where he had unknowingly held an apparent staring contest with Bucky’s shirt.  He couldn’t place the look Bucky wore, didn’t recognize the expression or the possible meanings behind it.  He felt his face heat in response all the same.

Like he had done in the elevator, Bucky hesitated for a brief moment before he shifted across the couch, moving closer to Steve until they were side by side. Steve automatically followed suit when Bucky turned bodily to face him.  There was an odd air of expectation around them that Steve had no idea what to make of, no idea what he was expecting, only that it was there. Just under the surface of something he also couldn’t place.

Bucky’s hands framed his face bracingly and lifted his chin until they made and held eye contact.  “You’re an idiot and a punk,” Bucky said, low and fond. “But you’re my idiot punk, you got that?”

“Well, yeah, of course, Buck,” Steve nodded against Bucky’s hands, frowning in confusion.  That had always been true without having been put into words, hadn’t it?  Bucky saying them now only seemed to have made it more true, an acknowledged fact. Bucky, for whatever reason, was only stating the obvious.  No surprises there.

Bucky stared at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed and head cocked just slightly to one side.  Steve stayed still in his hold, unsure what it was he’d said that had been so puzzling.  Had he missed something? Had Bucky been expecting him to argue?  But why would he have argued over one of the few truths that hadn’t changed into something unrecognizable while he slept in the ice? Surely Bucky knew that by now.

The surprise, apparently, came after.  Following the obvious truths in the form of Bucky’s slow grin and quiet huffed laughter. His hands shifting and tightening against Steve’s face and guiding him forward to meet the press of Bucky’s lips against his. Steve drew a startled gasp, hands rising to grip Bucky’s arms even as he automatically pressed back, returning the kiss as firmly as it was given.

It was short, entirely too short of a time, before Bucky withdrew, breaking the kiss.  Steve blinked his eyes open--when had he closed them?--to find Bucky staring wide-eyed and seemingly as stunned as Steve felt.  Steve definitely felt stunned.  Steve felt a lot.  None of which he knew how to explain or categorize.  Chaotic and confusing as it was though, it somehow still felt right. 

His hands moved of their own accord from Bucky’s arms to his back, tugging automatically but insistently until Bucky smiled and followed the urging.  The second time Bucky’s lips met his, there was no surprise or hesitation left. No uncertainty. Nothing but Bucky’s lips opening against his own and deepening kiss that didn’t break, even as Bucky moved closer.  Even as he settled over Steve’s lap and Steve’s arms wound tight around his waist. 

Steve thought It felt a little like free falling from a jet without a parachute, the thrill and rush of adrenaline.  Heart pounding and the rush of heat that followed.  The way his senses sharpened and zeroed in.  Only there was no danger or risk here.

Maybe, just maybe, there never had been.  Steve had always been Bucky’s, in whatever way that happened to translate into.  That went without saying.  But Bucky had said it.  Had said it as though it wasn’t a known fact.  As though he was informing Steve rather than just acknowledging it.  It stood to reason that maybe Bucky only just figured it out.  

He smiled at that and felt Bucky’s lips upturn in response.  Steve’s smile dropped, just slightly, when Bucky broke the kiss again, sitting back into Steve’s lap.  Bucky’s smile only grew though. 

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too, Steve,” Bucky said, low and fond as he tipped his head forward until it rested against Steve’s.

Steve wondered if that meant he could finally get rid of that shirt.