Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bucky’s omelette feels like sand in his mouth and not just because Steve has no idea how to utilize milk.  He stares across the kitchen table at Steve, feeling his heart tighten as he takes in the way his husband is practically glowing in the morning light from the window behind him.  He’s always looked like a fallen angel, and Bucky’s always wondered what he did to deserve him, just like Bucky always knew it was going to come to this exact moment, mouth dry, chest tight and a stack of papers in his lap that feel like the weight of the world.  

He’s not afraid of Steve catching him staring and asking about the guilty look on his face.  Steve is too busy staring at his tablet, eyes skimming over the screen.  Bucky isn’t fooled though.  Steve isn’t just casually checking emails or reading a report or anything else he has to do for work.  Bucky can tell from the hard line of his shoulders and the wrinkle in his forehead that he’s actively avoiding having to talk to Bucky.  

Not that they’d actually talk, just exchange pleasantries and avoid eye contact like fucking strangers.  But they aren’t strangers.  They’re supposed to be partners, they’re supposed to be each other’s world.  Or at least they promised each other as much two years ago.  Which is why Bucky has a stack of papers on his lap and a pain in his chest and a question on the tip of his tongue that he can’t seem to get out of his mouth, because no matter that he knew this moment was coming, he didn’t want to have to do it.

But it had to be done.  So he swallows the dry bite of omelette, washes his mouth out with a sip of coffee and clears his throat.

Steve tenses, almost imperceptibly, but doesn’t look up, just stares at his screen like it holds all the answers he could hope for.  Bucky makes another small noise in his throat, hoping to catch Steve’s attention for a second before he has to begin the speech he had been preparing for the last three months.  Steve hears him, if the little flinch was anything to go by, but still doesn’t look up.  

So he has to go all in then.

“Steve,” he says, trying not to sound annoyed, or worse devastated. Steve drags his eyes up of the screen, reluctantly but with an apologetic expression.  Bucky takes a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever was to come.  He reaches for the papers on his lap.

“Bucky,” Steve replies with a smile that was more of a grimace.  “What’s up?”

“Stevie,” Bucky repeats, tightening his hold on the papers to stop his hand from shaking.  “Look-”

“Oh no,” Steve gasps, and for a terrifying second, Bucky thinks he knows.  But his eyes aren’t playing tag with his anymore, and are instead fixed on the clock behind Bucky’s chair.  “It’s 7 already? I have a meeting in like a half hour.  Buck, I’m sorry I have to go. We can talk when I get home tonight.”

He didn’t look sorry.  He looked relieved.  Apparently, whether Steve knew or not, he didn't want to have this conversation with Bucky anymore that Bucky did.  He jumps out of his chair, shoves his tablet into his messenger back, and with a chaste kiss placed strategically on Bucky’s cheek he dashes out the door, leaving Bucky in his seat at the table with the aftertaste of a bone dry omelette in his mouth and a death grip on a stack of divorce papers, feeling as though he's about to cry.

***

Steve has been on mandatory medical leave for three and a half weeks and he's losing his goddamn mind. He's been told by many friends and many psychiatrists alike that he's too obsessed with his work, but he'd blown most of them off. Now, sitting in his apartment and staring at a blank wall for lack of something better to do, he decides to give their concerns some thought.

He's worked hard. He's worked his damn ass off climbing the ranks at Shield, proving himself over and over again, putting his life on the line time after time. He's not complaining. He loves what he does. It's just that he's been working so hard that he can't remember the last hobby he had. Or the last TV show he watched on his own. Or the last time he focused on something that wasn't related in some way to his job.

So now that they're forcing him, and they are forcing him because he tried to say no, to stay at home and recover, even though he's fine, you know despite being pushed off a roof after taking down a fully armed Hydra compound by himself, he's not exactly sure what to do with himself.

The first week had been alright. He'd sat down, watched TV even though he had no idea what he was watching. He'd gone out a bit, strolling through parks or malls. He even drew a few pictures, albeit shitty ones, but he's years out of practice so he cuts himself some slack. The second week he called work, just to confirm that they did indeed mean six months of medical leave, six full months no matter if he was feeling much better and totally ready to go back to work. On the third week he was calling up his coworkers and asking if they had any paperwork he could help out with. Twenty five days in he tried stopping by his office, and the very next day Natasha woke him up, shoved a suitcase full of books and speedos into his chest and handed him a first class ticket to Puerto Rico.

There wasn't a return ticket.

She drove him to the airport, and left him at the security entrance with a kiss on the cheek and the address of a beachfront resort he apparently had reservations at. Once the plane was in the air, he felt himself take a full deep breath for the first time in six years.

***

"Why do you look like someone killed a puppy in front of you?" Natasha asks, pushing herself up to sit on Steve's desk next to his computer. He pulls himself away from the mission proposal he was writing, mentally scolding himself for bringing his home problems to work. Again.

"It's nothing," he assures her, giving a hopefully optimistic smile.

"Don't bullshit me, Rogers," Natasha demands, crossing her arms. "You're as subtle as a stampede now tell me what's wrong."

"I can be subtle," Steve protests.

"There's a reason you don't do espionage, and that attempt at a diversion is it. What happened with James?"

"I never said it was Bucky."

"You didn't have to, now what did you do?"

"Why do you assume it was me?"

"Because I've known you for ten years and I also have met your husband."

Steve sighs and drops head into his hands like he's been wanting to all day.

"Bucky... I don't know, he seemed upset this morning, like something was bugging him. Something big. He tried to talk to me about it, but I ran out."

Natasha thumps him on the back of the head, and he doesn't even complain because he deserved that. “Really Steve?”

“I didn't know what else to do.”

“You've been wanting to have this talk with him for years. What happened?”

“I don't know if that's what he wanted to talk about or not. I panicked.”

“Steve.”

“I know, okay? I know I shouldn't have left, I know we need to have this conversation, but… I don't know, I got scared. I wanna fix things, but I'm just… I don't know where to start.”

Natasha slides off the desk and places both hands on Steve’s shoulders.

“Alright, this is going to be long, but I want you to listen,” Natasha begins. “You love Bucky. I know you do. But you treated your relationship with him like a hobby. The second you had a mission again, you forgot about him.”

“I didn't-”

“You forgot to pay attention to him. Relationships are work, Steve. They're a job, just like this one except more important. You've been taking a two year vacation from the most important job in your life. I know you want to fix things with him, to stop all the growing apart and get back to the way things used to be, but you can't just have one conversation and expect to fix everything. You need to work harder this time. You can't ignore your problems, you can't avoid confrontation, you can't put your work before him if you want your marriage to succeed. You need to be dedicated, Steve.  If you want it to work, you have to put effort in.”

Steve can only nod and take a deep breath.

“I want to.  I just don’t know where to start.  I mean, how do I make up two years of being a shitty husband?  He deserves better.”

“You can start by having that talk with him,” Natasha suggests, well, more like orders.  “And not running away anymore. Bucky loves you and you love him.  Just communicate.”

***

The hotel was illustrious.  His room was even more so.  It was large, with a walk in closet, king size bed and all sorts of other extravagant amenities.  It was on the top floor and had a view of the beach and the inevitable sunset.  Steve was terrified.  His Shield wages were decently sized but nowhere near enough to stay in his current room for longer than a week.  

But it wasn’t hooked up to his card.  He figured it was Natasha’s way of telling him to go wild, and as much as he’d rather be at work, he wasn’t about to start complaining.

He decides to go a little wild.  He stops going on morning jogs, replacing them with morning strolls on the beach.  Instead of trying to watch TV, he would go to the pool and read.  Or if he didn’t want to do anything, he would sit on the beach and stare at the ocean.  Vacation is nice.  It's peaceful.  Sure, he's still spending a majority of his time thinking about work, but there's a majority of options of things to distract himself with.

For example, Latin dancing night.  

Steve is in no way, shape, or form able to dance.  He’s tried, but there’s no hope for him or for his partner’s feet.  But he’s two weeks into his first non work related trip and he’s starting to get antsy, starting to feel the need to accomplish something, to be productive and get something done.  So to distract himself, he decides that public humiliation is a good way to keep his mind off work.  

And the thing is, he’s tried to keep away from work.  But work doesn’t keep away from him.

He’s standing by the buffet, picking on some coconut shrimp, avoiding eye contact with anyone in case they try to ask him to dance.  He makes the mistake of looking up for a second, wanting to get a view of the people who are actually good at dancing, and look mesmerizing on the floor, swaying and moving, and he manages to make eye contact with someone.  Not someone he can ignore or politely decline.  He makes eye contact with Brock Rumlow, a high ranking Hydra agent that he’d tracked to the base where he nearly died.

Rumlow knew him, had tried to kill him on a few occasions, and definitely recognizes him.  

Steve needs a diversion and fast. So he taps the guy in front of the salad station at the buffet on the shoulder, pulse racing as he feels beady eyes bearing into the back of his head.  

The guy has beautiful eyes.  That's all Steve has time to notice before apologizing.

"I'm sorry about this," he warns the guy, placing a hand gently on his waist and crashing their mouths together.  

There are reasons why Steve doesn’t do espionage, and this is an example of one of them.

Rule number one of, well, everything is always keep an eye on your enemy.  Steve’s eyes shut immediately, and he kind of… forgets about Rumlow.  Not actually forgets, but stops thinking about him actively, because he’s kind of overwhelmed.  Steve is prepared for an awkward half kiss that will last about thirty seconds until Rumlow looks away and he can make a break for it.  Steve is prepared to get punched in the face, shoved away, kicked out of this fancy hotel for harassing a guest.  Hell, Steve’s even prepared for Rumlow to storm over anyway and try to kill him for the seventh time this year.  Steve is not prepared for the guy who’s mouth he’s currently borrowing to kiss him back.  But he does. Dear god, he does. The guy’s arms go around his neck, pulling him down a few inches to get a better angle.  He's kissing him back, passionately, authentically, and Steve finds himself unable to do anything but reciprocating.

He doesn't count to thirty like he had planned to. He doesn't try to stop this at any point to see if Rumlow was thrown off or not. He doesn't even pay attention to what's going on in the ballroom anymore. He focuses on the guy in his arms and the soft moans he's making in the back of his throat.

He isn't sure how long they stand there making out in front of the salad bar, just that it's longer than thirty seconds. Much longer. Steve eventually pulls back, because it can't go on forever.

He plans to apologize again, profusely. Maybe come up with a lie for why he just jumped the guy. He barely gets a sound out before the stranger's hand is on his cheek, bringing him back for a much softer and sweeter round two.

Damn, he was a really good kisser.  This time Steve doesn’t lose track of everything else.  This time Steve puts his foot down after a few minutes.  He pulls back gently, trying desperately to get a hold of himself.

“I’m sorry about that,” he offers, even though it’s pretty obvious he’s not all that sorry.  “I, uh, I saw an ex and I, uh, panicked?”

“No need to apologize, 'm more than happy to help,” the stranger replies, with a gleam in his eyes that has Steve’s pulse jumping.  The guy is gorgeous, Steve realizes with a feeling of dread and a feeling of something else that’s the exact opposite of dread.  His hair is cropped short, styled to perfection in a way that indicates a lot of effort was put in.  His eyes are the color of winter, but have a warm inviting look in them.  He’s wearing a sleek navy colored suit that hugs his sharp angles just enough to have Steve’s thoughts go down a dark, unprofessional path.

“Thanks for being so understanding,” Steve says, carefully removing his hand from the stranger’s side. He needed to get out of here fast. Rumlow was still in play and a danger to everyone in the resort. He also had the inexplicable urge to run his hand through the guy’s hair, and that was even more dangerous.

He stepped back, eyes scanning the exits in case Rumlow was waiting. A hand on his wrist stopped him from bolting.

“Leaving so soon?” He asks, smiling shyly instead of smugly like before. “I don't think I got your name.”

“It's, uh, Steve,” he stutters, and blames his fumbling on the warm soft thumb that's brushing against the inside of his wrist. “I just wanted to get out of your hair.”

“Well, Steve, could I interest you in a dance or do you really want to run off?”

“I'm… I'm really bad at dancing. Like ‘I’ll probably break your foot’ bad,” he confesses, glancing down at the floor sheepishly.

“That's cool. I get it,” the guy assures him, taking his hand back. “Good luck with the ex, I guess.”

“Wait- I wasn’t… Look, I’m really bad at dancing,” Steve repeats helplessly.

“Yeah, you said-”

“But maybe… I could watch you dance?  And we could get some food? If y-you wanted to of course.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“My name’s Bucky,” the guy says, a small smile breaking across his face.

***

It's during his lunch break and after a full day of worrying about Bucky, he decides to call home like he hasn't in two years. He's practically shaking with nerves, and has to strongly resist the urge to hang up, give up, or do anything except confront the problem.

“Hello?” Bucky says on the other end of the line, voice sounding heavy and strained.

“Hey Buck,” Steve replies, trying for cheerful.

“Steve? What's wrong? Are you okay?” Bucky breaths out immediately.

“I'm fine, promise,” Steve rushes out, cringing that his own husband gets a call from him and expects the worst. “Just calling to say hey.”

“Uh… Did something happen?” Bucky asks, sounding confused and concerned, and Steve can picture the soft crease on his forehead. It makes his heart pang.

“Hey, uh, look I know this is really last minute and you have to be busy with work or whatever, but it's Friday, ya know, and I was, uh, wondering, and look, it's totally okay if you can't or don't want to… But uh, I was thinking we could go out for dinner at that Italian place on 5th if you want. I can make a reservation for after work,” Steve rambles, rubbing the back of his neck and squeezing his eyes shut. “It's fine if we can't.”

Bucky splutters on the other end of the line, and Steve feels his stomach drop, chest tighten, fear set in like he's a teenager asking his crush out for the first time.

“What?” Bucky asks.

“I get that you're really busy and everything,” Steve begins, pressing his phone closer against his ear to keep his hand from shaking. “So like don't worry about it. I was just… We haven't really, um…”

“Sure,” Bucky answers, and Steve can't help the sharp exhale of relief.

“Great,” Steve breaths, beaming at nothing like an idiot. “That-that's great. I'll uh... I'll make the reservation for 7 then?”

“Seven sound perfect, Steve,” Bucky says softly.

“Alright great, I'll see you when I get home then,” Steve agrees.

“See you at home,” Bucky echoes. And Steve's feeling exhilarated and a little confident for once so her hardly thinks when he blurts out a quick, “Love you, Buck.”

Bucky makes a strangled sort of sound that has Steve’s heart aching to be next to him instead of just listening to his voice.

“Love you, too, Stevie.”

The line goes dead quickly after, and Steve nearly fist bumps the air, but manages to contain himself and finish lunch. He feels floaty and stunned, heart beating fast, palms sweaty, smiling so wide it hurts. He walks himself triumphantly over to Natasha's desk when his break is over.

“I just asked my husband on a date,” he announces, beaming. “And he said yes.”

Natasha looks simultaneously unimpressed and proud in the way only she can.

“Great job, Steve.”

He can't really tell if it's sarcastic or not.

***

Bucky has had a shitty day.

After the disaster that was breakfast, he made himself a bowl of cereal and tried to write for an hour to no avail since he kept staring at the stupid papers over and over again. He had to call his sister back and explain that no, he still hasn't told Steve he wants a divorce and no, Becca, he doesn't want her to march over here and tell him herself.

And then, staring at the goddamn papers again, he had a good half an hour cry, because fuck it all, he still loved Steve so much it hurt. But him loving Steve had never been the problem. He had loved Steve from the second he met him, too much, too fast. He expected it to burn out in seconds but it never stopped.  Bucky never feed into the ideas of soul mates or true love, but he loved Steve with every fibre in his being.

The issue was Steve didn't love him back.

Now Bucky's sure Steve did love him at one point. Their first few months together were magic, and Bucky had tricked himself into thinking that this was his happily ever after. That he and Steve would have that same magic together for the rest of their lives. He's pretty sure Steve still loved him when he proposed and at their wedding and definitely the honeymoon, but after that it just slowly faded out. What might have been love tapered out into a fondness then into an acknowledgement, until Steve could barely stand to be in the same room as him. Bucky had tried denying what was happening for the longest time but that only led to breaking down on his sister's doorstep four months ago, realizing the love of his life could barely tolerate him. He met with a divorce lawyer for the first time two months after that.

Steve was perfect and noble and kind and compassionate, so Bucky knew that no matter how much Steve hated him, he'd never file for a divorce. He'd never want to hurt Bucky, no matter how unhappy Steve was, so the perfect idiot would suffer in silence until the end of time rather than do anything about it, divorce or cheating or otherwise.  So, as one final testament to how much Bucky truly and deeply loved his husband, he set everything up, planned the separation with the lawyer as best he could without Steve there and had papers drawn up, ready for Steve to sign so he could go off and be happy again. The only thing left was finding the right moment to tell him.

And then Steve asked him out on a date.

Bucky stared at his phone for minutes after he hung up, feeling strangely elated. Steve had asked him out on a date for the first time in two years. Steve had said he loved him for the first time in nearly two years.

He’d made peace with letting go of Steve, and tried his best to move past the crippling pain of knowing Steve didn't love him anymore. But one spark of something and his mind was already buzzing with hope and excitement over the thought of having a second chance… before he caught himself.

Steve didn’t love him any more.  He thought he’d drilled that into his head enough, but apparently not, since all it took was a single phone call to go back to deluding himself.

He set his phone on the kitchen counter, sank to the floor, and placing his head on his knees, he cried for the second time in three hours. This one hurt more.

He cleaned himself up, attempted to get some work done to no avail, and downed half a pint of ice cream. He got dressed in a black button down shirt and a pair of tight skinny jean, fixed his hair, and went back to staring at the divorce papers.  

The papers ended up shoved in the back of his desk drawer minutes before Steve got home and a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Becca scolded him for being dragged back in so fast.

Chapter Text

Steve Rogers is not what Bucky expects.  Aside from their rather shocking, though not in the least bit unpleasant introduction, whenever Bucky thinks he knows what Steve is going to do next, he’s proved wrong immediately.  Bucky expects a quick hookup that his sister will laugh or yell at him for the next morning.  But despite many heated looks from both parties, Steve seems content talking over hors devours.  Bucky didn’t think Steve would actually sit around and watch him dance, but he does with a stupid grin the whole time.  When Steve walks him back to his room, like a gentleman, Bucky isn’t sure why he’s surprised when Steve doesn’t come in with him but rather brushed a chaste kiss on Bucky’s forehead before blushing heavily and bidding him goodnight.  

He’s given up trying to make sense of things now.  Steve Rogers left a note on his door to meet on the boardwalk, and Bucky showed up because the guy was sweet and hot and made him laugh a lot last night.  

It feels like something out of a sappy romance movie, walking along the crystalline white beach, the waves peaceful, the sun not glaring hot yet, not a cloud in the sky.  It’s cliche, the kind of thing Becca would enjoy and Bucky would roll his eyes at, but he’s actually having a great time.  Talking with Steve is fun, and it’s nice being outside with the palm trees swaying overhead and the sand between his toes.  He really likes listening to Steve, about his mom and his friends and his job at an accounting firm, but even more he likes talking to Steve, who always seems so eager to drink up any information Bucky is willing to give.  

It’s not that Bucky’s had a bad track record with guys, and girls for that matter… except that well, he totally has.  And it’s not that he attracts selfish people, but more that he’s kind of self destructive and doesn’t seem to realize how bad things are in his relationships until Becca points it out and everything blows up in his face.  The point is, it’s nice to be with someone who’s sweet enough to hold doors open for him and actually seems to care when he rambles about his sister for far too long, so that’s probably why he turns to Steve as they draw closer to the hotel and says, “So are you going to kiss me again or was it a one time thing?”

And really it’s worth it just for the flustered look on Steve’s face.

“Oh… oh, I just… Well, I didn’t want to assume.  I mean, I really shouldn’t have the first time, without your permission and all… I was going to…”

“Steve, you haven’t answered the question,” Bucky interrupted gently, smiling.  “It’s a yes or no question.”

“I, uh… yes.  I was going to kiss you again.  Well, not really; I was gonna wait for you to do it, if you wanted to of course. I mean, I wasn’t going to if you didn’t want to, not like last time, you know, because I feel really-”

Bucky interrupted again, this time by pulling Steve down by his collar and answering the question for him.  As much as he like listening to Steve, kissing him was just as great.

***

He and Bucky live together. They have for two full years and yet Steve's knees are shaking as he parks his car and walks up to the porch. He doesn’t know why he’s nervous.  Bucky already said yes. They’re married for Christ’s sake.  Yet he’s nervous and somehow simultaneously dreading and eagerly anticipating dinner.

There’s no turning back now, or at least, that’s what Steve tells himself.  So he fumbles to unlock the door and makes his way through their foyer to the living room where Bucky is on his laptop.  Steve clears his throat awkwardly, smiling as confidently as he can when Bucky looks up.  A jolt runs through him when their eyes meet, though, and he realizes with a sickening feeling of dread that he can’t remember the last time he’s actually met Bucky’s gaze instead of darting immediately away.  

Bucky’s eyes are beautiful, he notices, and his chest tightens because how in the world had he forgotten.  

Bucky’s staring at him expectantly, and Steve is ripped out of that downward spiral because right, he was going to say something before he got distracted.  

“Hey, uh, reservation is book for seven,” he announces.  “So… uh, I’m gonna get ready.”

“Sure,” Bucky replies slowly.  His voice is a little scratchy like it had been over the phone, and Steve wants to ask, but he’s not sure how to without embarrassing himself.  So like he has for the past two years, he doesn’t say anything and leaves the room, feeling sick to his stomach at his own behavior.  

They have a half hour before they need to leave for the restaurant, and Steve doesn’t know what to do.  He tries taking as long as he can getting ready, but it isn’t that hard to put on a shirt and trousers, even if he does rummage through his closet for longer than he should, trying to find the right thing.  He stands at the top of the staircase, staring down into the living room where Bucky’s still sitting with his laptop, looking beautiful.  Steve wants nothing more than to go back to a time where he would’ve just walked into the room, sat next to Bucky, and… done something, anything,  be a better husband than he was now.  

He wishes he could go back in time and fix everything.  He wastes a few minutes, standing by the stairs, planning what he would change.  He would’ve had a longer honeymoon like Bucky had suggested.  He wouldn't have gone on that two month undercover mission as soon as he returned to work. Fuck Hydra and fuck Shield’s radio silence mission rules. He would take extra time off, stay around the house with Bucky instead. Distract him from work all the time with cuddles or sex, make him dinner every night, watch tv together before going to bed, asking him about his day, or whatever project he was working on.

He’s jolted out of the daydream, chest aching with the loss of it, but he also finds the courage to make his way down the stairs. It's not too late. He can fix things with Bucky, be better, have all those things he wanted but didn't let them have. He marches into the living room with maybe a little too much enthusiasm if the surprised look on Bucky’s face is anything to go by.

“I, uh, got ready,” he announces, smiling sheepishly. He walks calmly to go sit next to Bucky on the couch. Not close enough to touch but closer than before.

“Yeah, I see,” Bucky snarks back, carefully.

“Yeah… Right. Uh, you hungry?” Steve asks. He hasn't prepared for this and is regretting everything.

“A little I guess,” Bucky replies, looking weary.

“I'm starved. We haven't been to this place in what…”

“Eighteen months,” Bucky mutters, eyes immediately darting to his computer screen.

Fuck.

Any hope or confidence that Steve had built up was immediately dashed. Of course he picked that place. Their place.

They had gone on their first date there. He had proposed there. And eighteen months ago they went there for an anniversary, back when things were still slightly hopeful instead of the day to day struggle their relationship was now. It had been fine but things were starting to go downhill. Steve hadn't know what to say, how to talk to Bucky when he's barely seen him because of work. Their next anniversary Steve had brought him flowers and a card, but by then it was too late, they barely spoke, avoided each other at home, and didn't go out to their restaurant or any restaurant or even have dinner together most nights.

Of all the places he could've picked.

The air is tense and heavy now, and Steve, feeling slightly defeated, doesn't even try to say anything else. Bucky closes his laptop and stands.

“I'm gonna put this away and then we can get going,” he announces, hugging the laptop to his chest.

“Yeah, sure,” Steve agrees, nodding slightly. He gets to his feet as well and glances as Bucky quickly before turning. “I'll, uh, meet you in the car.”

He can't remember the last time he and Bucky were in a car together. He can't remember the last time they did anything together. The tight hurt in his chest is back again, but instead of feeling discouraged, he starts to feel more determined.

He can make things right. He just needs to fight for it.

***

Bucky is fucking pissed. He's not sure when he realized what was going on, but he has and he's pissed.

The restaurant, Steve's anxious behavior, the attempt at small talk, all of it makes sense.

Steve's gonna ask for a divorce.

He's actually going to do it. Bucky's watch for months to see if Steve gave any indication of thinking about and nothing. But now out of the blue, he's just going to do it and Bucky is pissed.

He's not sure why. Though it probably has something  to do with the painful amount of times he's had breakdowns in the bathroom of his lawyer’s office, the endless days he's struggled through because Steve can't look him in the eye, the number of painfully awkward times he's tried bringing divorce up, including this morning.

The fact that Steve's gonna bring him to a fancy restaurant after not having gone on a date in so long, and sit him down and calmly say something like, “It's not you, Buck, it's me.” or something as equally untruthful or sappy, it sets Bucky on edge. He didn't think Steve had it in him to do something like that, to lie to his face or string him along for so long when he could have ended it at any time. So he's pissed and he's weary and he's scanning the place for exits and bystanders who'll have to watch this whole scene.

Steve's awkwardly fidgeting as they walk to their table.

And it's the Table. The table where they sat almost three years ago and Steve was fidgeting awkwardly because he had a ring in his pocket.

As a writer, he admired the completed cycle it represents. As Bucky, he's even more fucking pissed.  Steve pulls out his seat for him, face flushed, smiling sheepishly.

Bucky returns the smile tentatively, sitting down, and grabs a menu from the table. He glances over the choices, mostly to confirm that it’s still the same that it’s always been because he already knows what he wants to get.

“So,” Steve begins, clearing his throat.  Bucky doesn’t look up from the menu.  He’s pretty sure this is it., and he’s bracing for impact.  “How was your day?”

“Uh…,” He responds, looking up, feeling slightly confused and slightly disappointed.  “It was alright, I guess.”  Well, it had been the opposite of alright but Bucky couldn’t exactly tell Steve about that.

“How's work?” Steve continues. Bucky gets the feeling that there's not going to be any avoiding tonight. He can't figure out why. If Steve was truly going to leave him, what was the purpose of the fancy dinner and small talk and all the things they haven't done in years?

“It's alright,” he repeats. “Didn't get much done today. I'm kinda in a rut at the moment.”

“Well, I'm here if you want to talk it through,” Steve offers, perking up immediately, leaning forward, eyes alight. “That would always help you, you know, before…uh.”  Steve's enthusiasm disappeared as quickly as it had appeared as he realized where that sentence was leading.

Before we fell apart. Before we stopped talking. Before we began avoiding each other. Before we gave up. Before I stopped loving you.

Bucky hopes he is successful in schooling his expression into a calm neutral. Or at least more successful that Steve, who stammers and blushes and looks so heartbroken.

“I just, uh… Shit, um, sorry, I didn't… I mean, just… You can uh, talk through it with me now if you want,” Steve scrambles to recover.

There was a time where Bucky knew Steve so well that he could tell what was going through his husband’s head at any time just by watching his gestures, his tone. Now though, he stares across the table and watches Steve fidget and hang his head and he has no idea what is going on.

He's still waiting for the shoe to drop. For the d-word to come out and any last crumb of hope he had to disappear. He's not sure what Steve is waiting for, what game he's playing, but watching him struggle and look so fully distressed, he decides to play along with whatever he's doing. Because if he isn't going to be able to spare Steve from having to be the one to end it, he can at least make it easy for him.

“You sure you want me to explain the whole thing?” Bucky warns. “It might take a while.”

Steve looks so goddamn grateful for pulling him out of that downward spiral that Bucky lights up a little on the inside.  If he can't make Steve happy anymore, at least he can do this.

“I’m sure,” Steve insists, leaning forward across the table to grab Bucky’s hand.  It takes every effort not to jolt in surprise.  He can't pinpoint the last time Steve held his hand or anything of that sort, but it sure wasn’t recently.  “I really, really do, Buck.”

Steve seems to catch himself, glancing down at where his hand is covering Bucky’s.  He looks mortified again and moves to lean back, but Bucky sure as hell isn’t gonna make it through dinner without some form of comfort, so he squeezes back, holding Steve’s hand in place.  Steve looks surprised, pleasantly so and Bucky tries to figure out where to start since he hasn't talked to Steve about any project in such a long time.

“Well, uh, should I just start from the beginning?” Bucky confirms.

“Yeah, sure, if you want to.  Whatever works best for you, ya know? I’m listening.”

***

Steve is glowing by the time dessert rolls around.  He loves listening to Bucky, watching how animated he gets explaining all the intricate details of the story he’s writing.  His eyes are wide and bright, corners of his mouth curving upwards.  He still seemed reserved, weary, and confused, especially whenever Steve would urge him to keep going, but slowly and steadily, he was talking more comfortably and ginning slightly.  Steve can’t remember the last time he’s felt so good.  He loves listening to Bucky go on and on about anything, whether it’s the story he’s working on or the argument he got into with his publisher.  He loves marveling at how brilliant Bucky is and how talented.  He loves offering the best advice he can or reassuring Bucky that his work isn’t awful or doing anything really to put that small surprised smile on his face.  He loves Bucky.

It’s around halfway through the main course that Bucky starts to ask about him.  (When the food first arrived, Steve had reluctantly let go of Bucky’s hand so they could both eat, but his palm buzzed from the sensation for the rest of the night.)  This is where he used to falter.  He hated lying to Bucky, especially since Bucky could usually see right through him and get upset because he thought Steve didn’t trust him or want to confide in him.  But at the same time, Steve couldn’t tell Bucky about Shield or any of the real reasons he would be upset or happy when he came home at the end of the day.  Really if Steve’s being honest, that’s where it all started.  He would go on weeklong missions without being able to call home and at the end of it all he couldn’t even give Bucky an excuse why he didn't pick up his phone.  And then Bucky would get angry, but would never yell or fight, just get a sad look in his eye and not talk to Steve for few days after he got back.  

This time he won’t make that mistake.  Instead of trying to lie or change the subject, Steve thinks hard about anything interesting that happened outside of missions and ends up talking about Natasha’s turf wars with Sam over the coffee machine and the time Clint got his head stuck in the elevator doors.  

Bucky’s laugh is just as perfect as Steve remembers.

By the time they leave, all he smiles and a few cups of wine make Steve confident enough to reach over and grab Bucky’s hand as they walk through the parking lot.  Bucky looks over at him, with… something in his eyes that Steve wishes he could decipher.  Bucky doesn’t pull his hand away, so Steve doesn’t say anything, just holds on and breaths in crisp fall air.

The silence on the car ride home isn’t awkward like the car ride there.  It’s comfortable and warm, and Steve really missed this feeling or home and safety and happiness.  He’s trying to figure out a way to ask Bucky out again, without sounding like he’s asking his husband out on a second date.

It’s impossible, he decides, as he pulls into their driveway again.  But he’ll find a way to do something like this again as soon as possible.  He can’t believe just a few hours ago he was terrified of getting dinner with Bucky.  

It’s almost embarrassing how one semi successful date has Steve feeling like he’s on top of the world.  It’s not like it went incredibly well, but he just feels so… happy, in a way he hasn’t in too long.  

He’ll blame it on that later, the drunk feeling from being around Bucky again.  Because it’s certainly too soon for this, but after they walk upstairs, together like they haven’t in ages, Steve turns around in the middle of the hallway and reaches out.  He wraps one arm around Bucky’s waist and places his other hand on Bucky’s cheek and leans in slightly, hopefully, asking for permission or maybe just confirmation that this newfound hope in his gut is trustworthy.

Bucky’s eyes go wide and then flutter shut as Steve leans in closer.  Kissing Bucky is the first breath of fresh air he’s taken in two years.  He can’t believe he was ever content with not having this.  The kiss is incredibly chaste, just the slight brush of his mouth against Bucky’s, but it feels like coming home.  

When he pulls away, Bucky is staring at him, gaping like a fish.  Steve smiles like a dope and steps back.

“I’ll see you in bed,” he says and disappears to the bathroom.  He leans against the closed bathroom door for a few seconds or minutes, smiling up at the ceiling.  Maybe it’s not too late.

***

Standing in the middle of the hall staring at the closed bathroom door with his mouth hanging open isn’t going to help Bucky make sense of what the hell is going on, so with great effort, he closed his mouth, takes a deep breath and walks slowly towards their bedroom.  

Inside, he sits down on the edge of the bed and runs a hand over his face, trying desperately to organize his thoughts.  Steve kissed him.  But even before that, Steve talked to him, told him about work, made him laugh with awful jokes, and didn’t ask for a divorce.  

His husband had been body swapped with an alien.  That’s the only explanation that makes sense.  It’s the only explanation period.  Bucky can’t think of one good reason why else Steve would be acting like… whatever this is.  Like they’re dating again.  Like… like nothing had changed.  

The more he thinks about it, the more Bucky feels sick to his stomach.  Something is wrong.  Something has to be wrong.  He just doesn’t know what it is or what to do about it.

The shower is running in the bathroom, so he only has a few minutes before Steve will be back and Bucky can’t be halfway to a mental breakdown when he does.  

He stands, feeling shaky on his legs and walks over the his desk.  He opens the bottom drawer and pulls the stack of divorce papers out of the back.  They’re a comforting presence in his hands unlike the weight on his shoulders they had been this morning.  Maybe because they mark a time not too long ago when things made sense.  

He takes another deep breath and puts them away again.  A little voice in the back of his head suggests that he might not need them anymore, but he tries to squash that train of thought immediately.  He’d been in denial about him and Steve for too long.  He couldn’t let one little thing set him back months and months of progress.  

It was already too late.  Even as he moved around the bedroom, changing into pajamas and getting ready for bed, he could feel the hope building up.  That maybe it wasn’t too late.  He could win Steve over again and they could go back to the way things were.  He tries to stop himself, but by the time he’s getting into bed, he’s fighting a full-on grin.  

Steve slips into bed a few minutes later, and Bucky doesn’t try to pretend to be asleep like he usually would, just pulls the cover up and waits.  Sure enough, Steve gently drapes an arm around Bucky’s torso, pulling him back into Steve’s chest lightly.  He’s hesitant like he has been all night, but Bucky just snuggles back into him.  

Steve hasn’t held him like this in a while.  It’s almost strange, relaxing in the center of the bed instead of clinging to one side, hoping he doesn’t accidentally brush up against Steve in the middle of the night.

Bucky’s throat feels tight, but he’s determined not to cry again tonight, especially over something as good as this.

“Steve,” he whispers, because speaking any louder would definitely give him away.  “I, uh, had a lot of fun tonight.”

Steve brings his other arms around Bucky’s waist and pulls him closer.  “Me too, Buck,” he murmurs back.  “We should… we should do this again?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, even though there are alarm bells going off in his head.  “That’d be nice.”

He can feel Steve smiling.  “G’night, Buck.”

“‘Night, Stevie.”

Chapter Text

When Bucky wakes up, after some of the best sleep he's had in awhile, there's a warm hand brushing his hair back from his forehead. Steve is sitting on the bed in front of him, huge smile on his face, and Bucky feels... content.

"'Morning," Steve says, and Bucky gives up, pushing himself up and pulling Steve down for a kiss.

"'Morning," Bucky replies, after. Steve looks ecstatic.

"'Morning," Steve replies dreamily. Bucky smiles, trying not to laugh. "Oh! I made you breakfast!" Steve turns, grabbing a tray off the nightstand and plopping it on Bucky's lap. He can't help but stare from the tray to Steve to back again.

It's like he's fallen down a rabbit hole and any minute he'll wake up again in his world where things like this just don't happen.

"Is it my birthday?" Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Heh, no," Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just... ya know, thought you'd like it."

"I do," Bucky assures him.

"Okay, great," Steve sighs, relieved. He stands and moves to leave but Bucky's having none of that.

"Where are you going?" he demands, grabbing his arm. "You can't honestly expect me to eat all these pancakes myself."

"Oh," Steve replies, looking guilty and pleased.

"Get over here," he orders, patting the spot next to him on the bed. Steve scrambles over, slowly but with a giant grin, like he's trying not to seem too eager. He settled down against the headboard, not close enough to be touching, but enough that Bucky can feel the heat radiating off his side. Steve's like a furnace. It's probably why Bucky slept so well last night.

Steve seems content to just watch Bucky eat when he starts on the first pancake, so Bucky purposefully shoves some food towards him. They spend most of breakfast in silence and it's still kind of awkward but not heavy and stifling like yesterday morning and every morning before it. It's relaxed and while not entirely comfortable, not uncomfortable either. Bucky's content with it.

Or at least he is until Steve starts glancing over like he wants to say something. He's still not sure what's going on with Steve, but he's resolved to enjoy as much as he can. He didn't think it would be so short lived, although maybe it made sense. If Steve does want a divorce, he wouldn't ask in a public place. He'd want Bucky to be comfortable, alone, somewhere safe. And he'd probably feel guilty and act super nice and gentle before breaking the news.

It's a very Steve thing to do.

Bucky feels his stomach churn, and it's not from the pancakes. He ignores it, sits back, tries to keep a sour look off his face, and waits.

"So... Are you busy today?" Steve asks. "With work or anything?"

Yesterday had been completely wasted, and he had gotten next to nothing done, but Bucky can't exactly tell Steve that without explaining why and well, he certainly can't explain why.

"Yeah, a little," he admits with a nonchalant shrug. "Why?"

"Well, I was just thinking, ya know, if you have any down time today, because I'm not really busy today, that we could... Well, we never finished watching Parks and Rec ."

The suggestion is so out of nowhere that Bucky feels dizzy. The last time they watched Parks and Rec was a little over a year ago. They used to watch it because sitting next to each other in silence was easier than talking and less awkward when there was something to listen to. Then Steve stopped having free time, or at least pretended to not have any, and either spent weekends in his office or on work trips or on errands that took way too long, and Bucky had let him without protest, but had binged the last three seasons as a bitter attempt at revenge.

Also it was a really good show.

Bucky's still waiting for the shoe to fall, and is still stung that Steve just started disappearing over the years, but he's feeling playful when he smirks and says, " You never finished Parks and Rec ."

Steve, in a word, looks betrayed. But also like he's trying not to smile. Bucky has to put a lot of effort into not laughing.

At any other time, Bucky would hate talking about this with Steve, but everything is surprisingly alright at the moment. Steve brought him breakfast and took him out to dinner, and despite the feeling of dread and alarm, he still feels hopeful and plans to enjoy whatever this is while it lasts.

So when Steve whacks him, oh so gently, with the nearest pillow, and says, "How could you?", over-dramatically and outraged, Bucky doesn't explain his exact motivation and ruin everything, he just leans back and laughs.

***

Steve is a man on a mission.  It may seem like he’s enjoying their Netflix marathon, which he is, but he’s concentrated on something else entirely.  Bucky is sitting a couch cushion away.  Yesterday it was a good start, but Steve wants to get closer, to close the gap a little more.  

He exaggerates a yawn and stretches his arm along the back of the couch.  Bucky doesn’t seem to notice, eyes fixed on the screen and a small grin on his face.  Steve counts it as a victory and lets his arm settle.  

Half an episode later, he props his legs up on their coffee table, like Bucky had, inching his legs a little to the right.  He waits a few minutes, offers a wry comment that makes Bucky’s small smile widen, and scoots to the right nonchalantly, stretching out his legs.  Bucky laughs at an on-screen joke, head thrown back, eyes crinkling, and Steve’s heart pounds.  Bucky is so gorgeous, and God, Steve wishes he never took this for granted.  Bucky glances over at him eagerly, as if to make sure he got the joke, and Steve beams back at him.  

Steve is patient, or he can be when he wants to be, so he’s willing to let a full episode go by before he shifts towards Bucky again.  He’s already on the couch cushion next to Bucky, only about half a foot away from their shoulders touching.  He feels on top of the world, and debates quitting while he’s ahead.  He’s sitting next to Bucky on the couch.  They’re sharing a bowl of snacks, and even if they aren’t talking much, the tension that usually settles between them has miraculously not made an appearance.  Steve’s almost willing to count it as a win for the day and just relax and watch the show, but he’s feeling a little greedy.

He waits for a few scenes to pass and then gives another fake yawn so he can resettle his arm along the couch to brush the back of his hand against Bucky’s back.  He’s managed to seem calm and relaxed so far, but his pulse is racing and his palms are sweaty.  He prays that Bucky is too absorbed in the show to notice.

“Steve,” Bucky says, sounding frustrated.  Steve can feel his heart stop and then sink.  He swallows hard and carefully draws his hand back.  He should have known better than to push things, and he scolds himself for moving too fast.  Things aren’t just going to fix overnight because he took Bucky out to dinner and made him breakfast.  

“Steve,” Bucky repeats, with a groan.  He pauses the episode, and Steve is braced for rejection or an argument or something else awful because he couldn’t do things right.  Instead he gets Bucky shoving at his side until he flops backwards onto the couch.  Grumbling softly under his breath, Bucky gently lies down on top of him, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder and throwing an arm around his waist.  Their couch is barely wide enough for one person.  To say they’re squished is an understatement.  But Steve could care less because he has Bucky pressed up against him everywhere, warm and close.

“You’re impossible,” Bucky sighs, but he grins fondly and runs a hand over Steve’s side.  “Watch the show.”  

Steve spends a few seconds frozen in shock, staring at Bucky in absolute disbelief.  Slowly his brain starts to catch up and he gently wraps his arm around Bucky in return.  He fights to hide a smile, and turns his attention to the television.  The next time Bucky laughs, he can feel it.

***

Bucky can’t remember the last time he’s avoided talking to Becca about something.  He was probably in college at the time, had probably done something awful and hadn’t felt like apologizing.  He and Becca have always been close, hardly argued about important things, always stuck together and always looked out for each other.  Which is probably why he’s dreading having to tell her about this weekend, because she’s going to tell him the blunt truth and the little fantasy Bucky has made in his head about winning Steve back and going back to how things used to be for them will be destroyed by reality.

But he can’t ignore her, or reality for that matter, forever.

“Hey, big bro, glad to know you’re not dead,” Becca begins, just like that.  Bucky winces.

“Hey, Becca,” he replies reluctantly.  “Sorry, it’s been a… strange weekend.”

“Did… Did you do it?” she asks, cautiously.  “Did you tell him?”

“Well… not exactly.”

“Did something happen?  Should I call the lawyer?  You could meet with him today; I’m sure he’ll have an opening.”

“Becca, it’s… not like that.”

“What happened?”

“Steve took me out to dinner.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Steve and I went on a date on Friday.”

“What do you mean?”

“He called around lunch time, asked if I wanted to go to dinner, and we went to dinner.”

“And?  Did you tell him there?”

“No.”

“Oh my God, did he…?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

“I don’t know.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, we had dinner, and he asked me about work, and then I asked him about work, and he actually talked about it for a little while.”

“Did… did he say why?”

“No.”

“Do you know why?”

“No.”

“Why didn't you talk to him about it then?  Buck, if he was actually talking to you for once, why didn’t you just finally get it out there.”

“I thought he was going to.”

“But he didn’t.”

“No.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I… Well, I didn't know what to do. I thought something was wrong, still do. I just…”

“Bucky,” Becca sighs, sounding crestfallen. “You were so close. Don't do this.”

“What are you-?”

“Steve has been stringing you along for years now.”

“Becca,” he protests weakly.

“And it took you so long to realize. And now you're just gonna… Bucky, please don't do this to yourself.”

“I'm not doing anything.”

“Then call him right now and tell him you want a divorce.”

“Becca, I…”

“No! Don't act like I'm the one talking crazy. Bucky, you've been getting ready to finally leave him for months. Two days ago you were ready to hand him those papers and now you just… Don't do this to yourself, Bucky. Don't get dragged back in because of one dinner. You're so close and you deserve so much better. God, you can't put up with the way he treats you-”

“Steve has never done anything bad to me, so you take that back!”

“Well, up until this weekend he's never done you any good either!”

“Becca!”

“I know you love him, but please, he's not worth it.”

“Don't say that!”

“He doesn't love you anymore, Bucky! I'm sorry, I truly am. I know what he means to you, but I know what you mean to him and it's not what you want it to be. He might be a great guy, but what he's put you through… I just want you to be happy.”

“I'm fine.”

“No! You're not! God, please don't do this! Do you know how long it took to make you realize the first time? Please don’t make me do that again. Please don't put yourself through that again. It was one dinner, don't let that ruin everything you've worked for! I won't watch you do that to yourself!”

“Then don't! Mind your own goddamn business!”

“Fine! And when you find yourself back where you were four months ago, I'll have my spare room ready!”

His thumb aches with how hard he slams the end call button. He throws his phone down onto the coffee table and buried his face in his hands.

He wishes he was really mad at Becca but he's not. He loves his sister and he knows everything she says and does is because she loves him. And he knows that everything she said is true.

No, he's not mad at her. He's mad at himself because she's right. It took one dinner, one weekend of Steve acting like the man he married, and he was already falling back into denial. He doesn't know what's going on with Steve, but Becca was right, he couldn't just pretend that everything was going fix itself.

“God, what am I doing?” He breathes, choking on the lump in his throat. He laughs, a bit hysterically, as he feels wetness prickle in the corner of his eyes. He knew the high of the weekend could only last so long before reality brought it all crashing down.

***

For the first time in his life, Steve is upset it's a Monday. He usually loves coming back to work after a weekend of doing nothing and feeling useless or more recently a weekend of avoiding Bucky and the crumbling state of their relationship. But today he just wished he could be at home, wrapped up in Bucky again, watching TV, falling asleep together on their uncomfortable couch like they had the night before. Things could still be a little tense or awkward but they were getting better, and that was just after one weekend.

Despite feeling so excited about the progress he's made with Bucky, walking into work lacks its usual sense of purpose and contentment. And everyone seems to notice how discontent his.

“What the hell happened to you this weekend?” Natasha asks, invading his workspace again. She smirks like she's poking fun at him, but her eyes show how concerned she really is. “How'd dinner go?”

“Great,” Steve replies, feeling the dopey smile that he can't seem to keep off his face when he thinks about Bucky.

“Then what happened to Mr. ‘Filing mission reports is my higher purpose in life.’?” She presses.

“He wishes he was at home,” Steve admits with a sigh.

Natasha isn't someone who is easily shocked. In fact, Steve thinks this might be the first time he's ever seen a surprise look on her face.

“Are you feeling okay?” She asks, placing a hand on his forehead like she's checking for a fever.

“Stop that,” he protests, swatting her hand away.

“Steve, I've worked with you for ten years and you've never once said that phrase. Not even during that job in Belarus when we almost froze to death. You love this job.”

“Yeah, well I love my husband more.”

Natasha grins and whacks him gently on the back of his head.

“It's about damn time,” Natasha agrees. She hops off his desk and places a kiss on his cheek. “I'm happy for you. Don't screw it up.”

“I'm trying,” Steve offers and Natasha saunters away from his desk. Steve tries to get back to work.

He has a recon job with Clint all day tomorrow so he tries to focus on that. He reads through the dossier a few times, forced himself to pay attention because there are people's lives at stake and he can't afford to not know what he's going into.

He sends Clint a reminder email, goes over the mission schedule a few times, and tries to begin his usual preparation of database scans and in depth research into each specific person they might see, but he can't seem to keep his attention on work. His mind is at home, thinking about waking up with Bucky in his arms three mornings in a row, planning the next thing he's going to reclaim for their relationship. God, he just wants to be home.

He texts Bucky at lunch, because he can't think of a reason to call him except to complain about how much he'd rather be home. So he asks Bucky how his writing’s going, and Bucky responds with a bunch of emojis and smiley faces, and Steve is just overwhelmed with how much love and adoration has been lying dormant, all this time.

He checks his phone almost a dozen times within the hour he gets back from lunch. Bucky doesn't send him anything else, so Steve just glances at his text from earlier and grins like an idiot.

He's given up on focusing on his work and just fidgets in his seat, does brainless busywork like reorganizing some missions files, and watches the clock. He can feel the eyes of everyone else on the floor as they stare at him incredulously. They're all used to him being intensely immersed in his work, taking everything seriously, going above and beyond to prepare for a mission, always on the look for new projects and ways to help out. But Steve just can't get into. He's confident tomorrow's missions will go fine so he gives up and impatiently waits for five o’clock to roll around.

At 4:45, Steve is already gathering his stuff, itching to make a dash for his car as soon as he can. And that's when Phil Coulson strolls into his office with a grin and a folder tucked under his arm.

There's nothing wrong with Phil. Steve loves working with him on any sort of job. But right now Phil is standing between him and the end of the day when he'll finally be able to run home to Bucky and make sure they haven't regressed after one day of work. So Steve's not to happy with Phil.

“How are you today, Agent Rogers?” Phil asks, standing next to Steve's desk, grinning politely.

“Doing alright, Coulson. Just hate Mondays.” Coulson looks thrown off but continues anyway.

“Well, there's an opening for a mission this weekend to Madrid to break up a ring of ex-Hydra mercs.”

He holds the file out to Steve and it's an impossible choice if he's ever seen one. Steve wants to help people, save people, stop bad people from doing bad things, and he's never once turned down a mission. But then he thinks of spending the weekend on a plane, jet-lagged, or in action, and he flinches. The last thing he wants right now is to waste the two and a half days he could be spending with Bucky.

“Sorry Coulson,” Steve announced. “I don't think this weekend is good for me. Spending time with my husband, you know.”

Coulson’s eyes widen and he hears audible gasps from his co workers who aren't exactly hiding the fact that they're eavesdropping. Steve has never ever turned down a mission before, whether it be on a weekday, weekend, holiday, birthday, anniversary. To turn this one down without a substantial reason, Steve's pretty sure he's just changed the entire way the office works.

“Also, I think I'm gonna leave a few minutes early today,” he announces, gathering his things and standing. “But have a nice night, Coulson.”

Coulson is still staring at where Steve was sitting, folder held out in front of him. He pulls on his light jacket and walks over to the elevator and ignoring the stares of concern and amazement.  He forces himself to keep walking, despite the urge to go back and prepare more for tomorrow, or take the mission, do something to feel useful and productive.  He pushes it all aside, and goes home.

***

Steve has never been home before six thirty.  And that’s on a good day.  And that includes before everything went downhill at home.  He’s usually in the office until eight, working on God knows what for twelve hours.  Bucky used to wait up for him, so they could have dinner together, maybe watch TV in the living room if they weren’t too tired.  Eventually he stopped because dinner was too awkward and made his chest hurt, and would instead be in bed by eight, pretending to be asleep, because avoiding Steve was easier than being around him.

Bucky thought calling Becca at five would give him plenty of time to recover and then panic over whether or not Steve would expect to have dinner together.  So he’s still on the couch, wrapped in a ratty old blanket, ugly crying, when he hears Steve’s key in the door.  

“Shit,” he hiccups, eyes darting around the room for something to hide behind.  He scrambles to his feet, planning to hurtle over the couch and sprint to the nearest bathroom to clean himself up.  Instead, his legs get tangled in the blanket and he ends up in a heap on the floor, wedged between the couch and the coffee table, chest still heaving with sobs.

“Fuck,” he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut as Steve walks in.

“Buck?” he calls, walking into the living room.  And then more alarmed, “Bucky?  Are you-?”

“I’m fine,” he insists, but he sounds like he’s just been crying, which he has.  Steve’s next to him in a second, hands hovering like he’s not sure what to do to help.

“What happened?” he asks, small and terrified.  

“I tripped,” Bucky explains, teeth gritted to stop his breath from hitching.  “I’m fine.”  He pushes himself up off the floor, to a seated position, and tries to fix his hair.

“Bucky?” Steve repeats.  “Are you-?”

“I’m fine,” he says again, tries to snap it out, but there are still tears on his face and his voice comes out watery.  Fuck, he can’t seem to pull himself together.  He wipes harshly at the wetness on his face, resolutely not looking at Steve.

A warm hand lands on his shoulder, tentative and gentle.  Steve sits down next to him on the floor, eyebrows furrowing together.

“Can I, uh-?” Steve asks, arms hovering around Bucky, leaning in like he wants to pull him closer.  And he really shouldn’t, because Becca is so right about everything, but he practically launchs himself into Steve’s arms, fisting his hands in Steve’s shirt, hiding his face in Steve’s neck.  He’s sobbing again, loud and messy, but Steve holds onto him tight, running a hand along his back soothingly.

“Shhh, Buck, I’ve got you, sweetheart.  It’s okay,” Steve breathes, and repeats an endless mantra of comforting words, holding on tight until Bucky starts to calm down.  “Do you want to talk about it? Because I’m here, okay?  I’m here for you.  Whatever you need, Bucky, okay?”

He relaxes against Steve, reaching up to clean his face with his shirt sleeve, and calms his breathing.

“You don’t have to,” Bucky assures him.  “I’m sorry-”

“Shhh, I want to, okay?  I’m here for you, Buck.  You can tell me anything.”

Dangerously, Bucky can feel himself beginning to believe it.  Becca was right, but he still can’t seem to stop himself from getting sucked back into it, back into Steve and the way he feels around him even knowing that those feelings aren’t reciprocated.  He’s too selfish to stop himself, so he lets Steve hold him and comfort him, and gives up.

Chapter Text

The resort is extravagant but there are only so many on-premise restaurants.  Bucky and Steve have been to each at least twice.  There’s a certain urgency to their relationship, with the knowledge that vacation will only last so long before they have to go their separate ways.  So Steve takes him out to dinner almost every night, to each place the resort offers, and when they have to start repeating, Bucky just pretends it’s their first time all over again.

Everything is soft and sweet, and Bucky loves it.  Loves the way Steve holds his hand over the table every night.  Or when Steve slings an arm over his shoulders as they walk back to Bucky’s hotel room.  He loves the gentle goodnight kiss he gets every night, even if it frustrates him to no end that Steve will never come inside.

They’re walking back to Bucky’s room now, after another dinner in the main dining room, where they first met a week ago. It was their third time there, because the food is great and the seats are close together, and because Bucky recently discovered that Steve makes him a sentimental sap.

Steve has his arm around Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky leans into his side, enjoying the proximity and the warmth.  It’s only going to last so long, an unhelpful voice in Bucky’s head reminds him.  He has three days left before vacation ends, and well… he hasn’t told Steve yet.  

Steve always seems so happy, smiling and listening and talking, and Bucky hasn’t exactly found the right way to tell him without ruining that warmth that always surrounds Steve.  

But he only has three days left.  And then it’s over.  And he doesn’t want it to be over, and Steve still won’t come into his room after dinner.  As perfect as everything has been so far, it’s all going to end and Bucky doesn’t want it to.  Doesn’t want to lose the bubbly, giddy feeling Steve always inspires in him so soon.  Doesn’t want to forget what it feels like.

He doesn’t say anything still, as Steve leads him to the door and then turns and smiles again and leans forward slowly and brushes a soft kiss against Bucky's mouth.  Steve moves to pull away but Bucky pulls him back. He knows he has three full days, but he still feels desperate and out of time and he kissing Steve like there's no time left at all. Steve sighs blissfully and kisses him back with equal fervor before pulling away again.

He smiles again, soft and flustered, and steps away.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Buck,” he says softly, trailing his hand along Bucky’s arm, from the shoulder down to his wrist. “We can meet for breakfast again, if you want.”

Bucky nods and Steve turns to go, but Bucky can't take it anymore. He wants Steve now, wants Steve to come inside and wants to spend the night together and wants to wake up next to Steve, wants to know what it all would feel like before it's too late.

“Steve,” Bucky calls. “I'm, uh… I'm leaving on Saturday.”

“Oh,” Steve breathes, freezing in place, smile slipping off his face. God, this is why Bucky didn't want to tell him, this heartbroken look replacing Steve's usual brightness. “Oh, I didn't realize-”

“Steve, just… Please stay,” Bucky asks, reaching for Steve's hand. “We don't have to do anything, I promise. But just… Stay.”

“Of course, Buck,” Steve replies immediately, stepping in closer. “Yeah, I can stay if you want. What time on Saturday?”

“Does it matter?” Bucky asks, smiling bitterly.

“I guess not,” Steve agrees, frowning, staring at his feet.

“Come inside,” Bucky says, tugging on Steve’s hand, opening the door to his room.  

“We’ll, uh, keep in touch, right?” Steve asks, following Bucky into the room and squeezing his hand.

“Steve, I’d be pretty pissed if we didn’t,” Bucky replies wryly, and Steve starts to smile a little again.

*

Steve has come to love his alarm.  Which is strange because can anyone really love a mechanical screeching noise waking them at an ungodly hour of the morning?  

So maybe it isn’t as much the alarm clock as it is mornings.  Mornings are amazing lately, even if Steve hates leaving for work.  

After flailing his arm out and scrambling to hit the snooze button on his phone, Steve is pretty much awake and incapable of getting back to sleep, but he gets back under the covers anyway and pulls Bucky close again.  Bucky, who should have also been woken up by the loud and obnoxious screams of the alarm, grumbles a little, but remains mostly asleep.  Steve soaks up the warmth and comfort ‘cause it’s going to have to last him the rest of the day.  He memorizes the feeling of soft sheets, fuzzy pajamas, and Bucky, content and warm, pressed up against his chest.  He clings to the soft snores Bucky makes, the peaceful rise and fall of his chest.  Steve tries to freeze time for a few moments, enjoying the quiet calm, the warm feeling in his chest that he finally got back and won’t ever take for granted again.  

By the time the second alarm goes off, Bucky starts groaning more, and Steve pulls himself together.  He brushes his mouth against the back of Bucky’s neck, chaste and sweet, and lets the moment go, sitting up, and turning of his alarm for good.  He plants a few more kisses on his husband, across his forehead or cheek and shakes him gently.

“Buck, breakfast in ten,” he announces and gets a disgruntled groan in response.  Steve can’t stop the smile on his face as he climbs out of bed, leaving Bucky sprawled across their bed, half-awake but still clinging to sleep with a passion.

Steve is terrible at cooking, but if there is one thing he is almost average at cooking, it’s breakfast foods.  So he lets Bucky sleep for a few extra minutes and makes eggs and toast because he usually doesn’t burn them, and remembers to put the coffee on as soon as possible.  

Bucky trudges downstairs like clockwork, as soon as the coffee is ready, like he somehow senses it.  Eyes half shut, he staggers to the cupboard, pulls out two mugs and pours them both coffee.  Steve is pretty sure he’s still asleep at this point, but with two cups of coffee in hand, he walks over to Steve at the stove, plasters himself to Steve’s back, and hands over one of the mugs.

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve says, leaning back against his husband as he takes a sip of the coffee.

“Mmm, ‘welcome,” he mumbles, but STeve is pretty sure he’s awake by now, downing the first of many cups of coffee.

They stand like that, Bucky hugging him from behind, chin on Steve’s shoulder until the eggs are done and Steve carefully shoves them from the pan, onto the plate.  When they sit down, it’s no longer at opposite ends of the table.  It’s next to each other, on really good days, in the same seat.  There’s no awkward silence, just quiet comfort, or Bucky’s sleepy babbling, or carefree little discussions about Bucky’s plans for the day.

Steve prolongs leaving as long as he can, but when he really has to leave, he wastes a few more minutes with a goodbye kiss that’s soft and hopeful and reluctant to end.  Some days, Bucky has to all but push Steve out the door.

It’s been three weeks, and Steve has never been so in love.

*

Bucky hasn’t talked to his sister in three weeks.  He hates it, but he’s not about to apologize.

He knows it’s shitty of him, to give Becca the silent treatment when she was the one that stood by him through the ups and downs of two years.  And god, does he want to talk to her now more than ever about everything that’s been happening.  But, well, the Barneses have always been stubborn and Bucky refuses to apologize and Becca won’t pick up the phone either, so they're stuck.

But other than that, things are going great.  He and Steve have never been so close, physically and emotionally.  Where before, he never seemed to see Steve as they mutually avoided each other, now Steve is never far from his side, if he can help it, always holding him close, hanging onto every word that comes out of his mouth, going out of his way to make sure he’s happy.

At first it was concerning, how fast everything changed, but Bucky’s relaxed into it now.  The fear of Steve ending things has tapered off as the weeks go by; the concern that something bad had happened to spawn this change disappeared as time passed and nothing happened; the threat of things going back to how they were became less and less overbearing as every day, Steve came home as fast as traffic allowed and immediately sought Bucky out.

Things were different, but good.  Bucky doesn’t know what led to this change, and doesn’t really care at this point.  He feels like he’s winning Steve back, like Steve might be falling in love with him again.  And Bucky doesn’t plan on questioning it.  He doesn’t care why things changed for Steve, because it doesn’t matter.  He has a second shot at this, his marriage, the love of his life, and he’s not going to throw it away.

He hasn’t looked or even thought about the divorce papers in days, and he doesn’t plan to ever again.

*

It’s 4:22 and Steve’s getting antsy.

He loves his job, but he hates being at work and away from Bucky.  And while three weeks was enough to learn how to balance the two, he still gets restless towards the end of the day.  

Natasha by now, knows all this, and seems to intentionally pass by him as often as possible to smirk smugly at him. He, like the mature working adult he is, sticks his tongue out at her every time.  

Steve is eying the time desperately, watching impatiently as he gets closer and closer to five, fidgeting in his seat, unable to finish typing up his mission report.

It’s 4:31 when Steve is interrupted by sudden flashing lights and a screeching sound that piece through the entire floor. The infiltration alarm.

The doorway to the stairs is kicked in as upper level Shield agents swarm the floor, according to infiltration protocol.  The rest of infiltration protocol includes up to five hours of inspection of each floor, each office, each agent.  Steve has read every Shield protocol manual because he loves his job and had no life before Bucky.  He knows how long and tedious Shield processes are to ensure safety.  There’s no way he’s getting out of here before 8.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and hears Natasha laughing from across the room.

*

He manages to sneak off to the bathroom for few minutes with his phone and calls Bucky as soon as he’s in a stall.  

“Hey, babe,” Bucky says.  Steve can hear him typing way on the computer, the sounds of the 5 o’clock news in the background.  Steve’s hands are shaking.

“Hey Buck,” he replies, wincing at the guilt and fear in his tone.

“Steve? What’s wrong?” Bucky asks, and the typing stops.

“Nothing, I just-”

“Are you okay?” Bucky continues.

“Yeah, Buck, I’m fine, promise,” Steve replies, trying to sound more reassuring. “I just…” Steve takes a deep breath and sighs.  “I have to stay late at work today.”

There’s quiet on the other side of the line for a while, and Steve feels like he’s going to throw up.

“Oh,” Bucky says quietly.  “Okay, yeah. No problem.  Do you want me to make dinner later then?”

“No, Buck.  It’s alright, you… you go ahead.  I’m gonna be a while so… you don’t have to wait up.”

“Oh, alright,” Bucky mutters. “I’ll uh…”

“I don’t want to,” he blurts out.  “I just… there’s really no way out of it. I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to.”

“Yeah, Stevie,” he says.  “I know… Don’t-don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’ll leave your dinner in the oven.”

“Thanks, Buck.”

“I’ll see you at home, okay?”

“Okay, Bucky.  I, uh, I have to go now.”

“Alright, bye, Steve.”

“Bye.”

Steve stays in the bathroom for a few minutes after he ends the call to calm himself down.

*

Bucky goes to bed at 9.  He thought Steve would be home sooner so he waited around, getting some extra work done.  

Everything felt… off.  He was so used to Steve being around that he forgot what it was like to have the house to himself.  Everything was strangely quiet and empty without Steve around.

It made Bucky anxious.  He knew this wasn’t regression.  He could tell just by how heartbroken Steve had sounded over the phone that Steve wasn’t happy about this either.  

Bucky hears Steve’s car in the driveway around a half hour later.  He’s still awake since he found it pretty impossible to fall asleep without Steve next to him.  Steve comes in quietly, and Bucky can almost feel the guilt seeping off him.  

He doesn’t even head to the kitchen, which is disappointing because Bucky specifically made some chicken parmesan to cheer Steve up.  Steve moves up the stairs quietly, tiptoes into their room and gets ready for bed.  Bucky already feels calmer just having Steve in the room, can feel the corners of his mouth already turning up.

Steve crawls into bed a few minutes later.  Bucky feels him reach out, but quickly withdraw to his side of the bed, no doubt blaming himself, the self sacrificing idiot.  Bucky sighs.

He rolls over onto his side, shaking his head.

“Oh, hey, Buck,” Steve whispers, eyes wide with guilt.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Shut up,” Bucky says softly.  He wraps his arms round Steve’s waist, pulling him close.

“I’m sorry,” Steve mumbles sounding miserable.  “I’m sorry, I…”

“Shhh,” Bucky says, running his hand along Steve’s back.  “It’s okay.  Really, Steve.”

“I didn’t-”

“Shhh, I know,” Bucky assures him.  Steve buries his face in Bucky’s neck.  “It’s alright, Stevie.  We’re fine.”

“Promise?” Steve asks, voice muffled by Bucky’s shoulder.

“I promise,” Bucky echoes, kissing Steve’s forehead.  “We’re okay, Steve.”

Steve seems to relax, letting out of deep breath and melting into Bucky’s arms

“I love you, Bucky,” Steve whispers, and Bucky feels his heart skip a beat.  He can’t remember the last time Steve said that to him.  Doesn’t know the last time Steve felt that way about him.  “I really don’t want to screw up.”

“I love you, too, Stevie,” he replies, pressing his mouth to the top of Steve’s head.  “I love you so much, okay?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, okay? So you don’t need to worry.  We’re going to be just fine.”

Chapter Text

Steve sees Bucky off at the airport like some sort of sap. He has two weeks before he can head back to work, and to a certain extent he doesn’t want to. He likes being around Bucky, feels relaxed and warm and content. The pressure to get back to work, to make himself useful slips away when they’re talking.

Steve’s not sure what he expected from his vacation but Bucky is more than he ever dreamed.

They’re standing awkwardly outside the security gate. Steve doesn’t want to say goodbye yet, but he’s only known Bucky for a short period of time; he doesn’t think it’s been long enough to go with Bucky through security to the gate. But he really doesn’t want to say goodbye yet.

“You have my phone number,” Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck. “So… you know.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, voice quiet and soft. “I do.”

“I know we haven’t really been-”

“I’m going to miss you, too.”

“Just, uh, keep in touch, you know? If you want to, that is; don’t feel like you have to, I mean, it’s only been a few days. We don’t have to-”

“Steve,” Bucky sighs, dropping a hand to his shoulder. “I’ll call you as soon as I land.”

“I- Don’t feel like you have to, you don’t.”

“Steve, I want to. Okay?”

“Oh, okay. Yeah.”

“ I know, it’s only been a little while, but… I like what we got here,” Bucky announces, stepping closer. “We’ll keep in touch.”

“I like it, too,” Steve offers.

“Okay, I gotta go,” Bucky says, smiling sadly. “But I’ll call, okay? We’ll be alright.”

Steve sighs, leaning in to press his mouth to Bucky’s, and gets an enthusiastic response. He doesn’t want to leave this moment for anything, but Bucky has a plane to catch. He pulls away.

“Alright, I’ll talk to you soon,” Bucky announces, lifting his bags.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, nodding. With one last little smile, Bucky turns and gets on the security line. Steve waits until he’s past the checkpoint and, heaving a large breath, he turns and walks back towards the cab.

*

Friday is date night. Most days after work Steve is tired and homesick so they usually stay on the couch, watching TV and sharing a blanket, but Fridays they go out, to a movie or dinner or anything they feel like. It feels like a routine, stable and not going anywhere.

Tonight it's a restaurant they've never been to before. Some Greek place that opened a few months back, when they were in no position to go out on dates. Bucky used to think about this place, wonder if going to new Greek restaurants was something they could've done if Steve still loved him.

Well, Bucky’s pretty sure Steve is in love with him again, so they're going to the new Greek place. The doubts in Bucky’s head have gotten significantly quieter lately, less fear that this change is only temporary and more hope that it was a fresh start, a second chance he wasn’t going to throw away.

“So how's Natasha?” Bucky asks after they place their order. He learned a few days ago that it's easier to ask about Natasha than ask Steve about work, prevents the guilty and nervous look Steve gets on his face when he talks about work, like he's doing something wrong.

“She's annoying as ever,” Steve replies, smiling fondly. “Did I tell you about how she stole that pastrami sandwich you made me on Wednesday? I came back from the bathroom and she was sitting on my desk, eating my sandwich. She's a menace.”

“We should invite her over some weekend,” Bucky offers. “I haven't seen her in forever.”

“Yeah, that's intentional, Buck. The two of you together… God, I don't think you remember last time,” Steve complains.

“Of course I remember last time. Best vacation of my life; well, aside from Puerto Rico.”

“While I'm touched, sweetie, that wasn't the last time you and Natasha were in the same room,” Steve says, shaking his head. “The Christmas party at my office two years ago.”

“What office party?” he asks.

“Exactly,” Steve answers. “I don't think I've ever seen you that drunk.”

“Oh my god, I don’t remember-”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “Exactly.”

Bucky doubles over laughing, rests his head on the table for a second to collect himself. Steve beams, chuckling a little himself. Every time Bucky laughs, Steve looks practically surprised, amazed and a little smug, like he’s that proud of whatever joke or story he told.

Bucky’s been laughing more in the past two weeks than he can remember in the past two years.

“Then we’re definitely inviting her over,” Bucky decides.

“You know who else we should probably invite over,” Steve says, smile fading slightly.

“Steve,” he protests gently, because just like how Steve gets anxious whenever they talk about work, Bucky doesn’t want to talk about Becca.

“I know it’s not really my place, Buck, but I just… I know you’re mad at her but I also know that you really miss her. And I think it's dumb that you're fighting over her boyfriend of all things. I know you're worried about her, but if the guys as bad as you think he won't be around for long,” Steve rushes out, looking down at the table when he finished. “Sorry, I shouldn't have-”

“Steve,” Bucky sighs, placing his hand on top of Steve's. “I appreciate it. I really do. I do miss Becca, and you're right, we're both being dumb.”

“Still I- I just hate seeing you upset, Buck, and I wanna help-”

“If you invite Natasha over, I’ll invite Becca,” Bucky offers.

“Fair enough,” Steve agrees, looking relieved. “But are you sure you want to have Becca and Natasha in the same room? Especially when that room is our lounge.”

Bucky laughs again just thinking about.

*

Going back to work is a satisfying as Steve knew it would be, even if there’s a hollow feeling in his chest that used to be filled with a delightful warm feeling. Natasha says he’s been missed and takes dozens of pictures of his sunburnt face. When she asks about Puerto Rico, Steve says it was nice and doesn’t bring up Bucky because he feels if he talks about it in the past tense then it truly will be over.

Bucky called him when he landed, just like he promised, and they’ve exchanged texts a few times since, but Steve still feels like it’s all gone. In fact, he’s starting to wonder if there was anything there in the first place or if Steve was just so bored that falling in love was something to occupy the time. He misses Bucky though, misses the light and airy feeling of being around him.

Ironically enough, he’s distracted with all these thoughts as he rushes down the sidewalk toward the cafe he gets coffee from every morning, distracted enough to not notice someone turning the corner until he’s slamming into them and nearly sprawling to the ground.

“Shit,” the guy says, clinging onto the sleeve of Steve’s jacket until he can stand straight. “I’m so sorry.” The voice is familiar, and so is the hand on his wrist. Steve thinks he might start laughing because there’s no way. New York is one of the most populated cities in the word there’s no way- “Steve?”

“Hey Buck,” Steve breathes, almost disbelieving. Bucky’s face lights up, and his other hand comes up to grip Steve’s shoulder.

“Wow, hey,” Bucky says, staring in amazement, like he’s just as stunned as Steve feels, like maybe his heart skipped a little beat and his stomach dropped, too. “It’s great to see you.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, curling his fingers into Bucky’s palm. They lapse into a silence that’s bordering awkward but not quite there. Steve wants to say something but he’s not sure how… or what. Bucky just stares at him, looking excited but a little scared.

“Uh, you’re probably going to work then,” Bucky says, pulling his hand away. Steve wants to stop him, but he can’t seem to stop staring, move past the fact that Bucky is really here, right in front of him, like he was summoned just by Steve missing him, to actually do something about it. “I’ll, uh, get out of your way then. Sorry for-”

“Do you wanna get coffee?” Steve asks before Bucky can take one more step away. “If you’re free right now… or later, if you’re not. Or tomorrow, if that works better. I’m free, whenever, if you want to of course.”

“Right now?” Bucky echoes, eyes wide.

“I just-”

“Sure,” Bucky interrupts, smiling softly. “I’d love to.”

There’s a pit of nerves in Steve’s stomach with the prospect of ditching work, but he can’t walk away. He feels like he’s been granted a second chance with Bucky, and he’s not about to throw it away.

*

Bucky spends most of his day on their couch, television on in the background as he types away on the computer. It’s his work area, close enough to the coffee table to reach for snacks, remote on the pillow next to him and laptop cord firmly plugged into an outlet.

At night though, it becomes something different. He moves all his work stuff out of the way before dinner, so once their finished, he and Steve can just curl up on the couch, continue watching whatever sitcom on Netflix, and relax. It’s not like before when watching TV was a way of avoiding each other without physically avoiding each other. He got to curl up against Steve’s side or on his chest, and whisper his commentary into Steve’s ear and feel his laugh shake through his chest, quiet so he doesn’t disturb the peace.

He’s fallen asleep before, worn out from a day of staring at screens, lulled by Steve’s hand carding methodically through his hair or running along his back. He’ll wake up in their bed, with Steve’s arms around his waist, his lips on the back of his neck.

Sometimes he watches episodes ahead of time so he can fall asleep on the couch, feeling warm and safe and loved, without getting lost in plot the next time he pays attention.

Somedays Steve’s the one who falls asleep, usually the same days he comes home sore and slightly sweaty, like he’s run a marathon instead of sat in an office all day. Bucky can’t carry Steve upstairs no matter how hard he tries, so he’ll usually just pause the show and let Steve rest for a few hours while he stares at the ceiling or down at the rise and fall of Steve’s chest, basking in all of it.

Life is good, and Bucky’s happy, and these are things that Bucky thought would never happen again.

“I love you,” Steve whispers every night, if he’s awake. He’ll say it again in the morning, and again when he gets home and sometimes he’ll send Bucky a text at lunch with a bunch of heart eye emojis because he’s a cheesy sap.

“I love you, too,” Bucky says automatically, like Steve needs the reassurance as much as Bucky does.

They still fumble around each other at times. They resolutely don’t talk about how things used to be, when Steve didn’t love him, but there’s no real reason to talk about it, so everything is fine. Sometimes Steve will need to stay late at work, but they no longer panic and skirt around each other when Steve gets home.

They never argue, but there’s nothing for them to disagree about necessarily. It’s not quite what they were years ago, but it’s close. He can’t read Steve’s mind like he used to, but he’s starting to pick up on the little things in his expressions, ones that are the same as they were before and others that are new.

They’re getting there, though. Everyday it’s something new and better and Bucky can’t get enough of it.

It’s a night where both of them are awake, but not really talking, just following the actions on screen, exhausted. Bucky has his hands fisted in the back of Steve’s shirt, while Steve is stroking through his hair slowly. His mouth is pressed against his forehead, gentle and sweet.

These days Steve gives away affection easier than anything, always holding onto Bucky somehow, always reaching out, kissing him somewhere, hugging him, holding his hand, like it’s something he’s starved for. Bucky loves it, loves Steve, loves them.

“Buck,” Steve whispers, mouth moving against his skin. “I… uh, had an idea.”

“Oh no,” Bucky replies, just as quiet. “Don’t hurt yourself there, sweetheart.”

It gets Steve to loosen up, scowling fondly at him. “I just… I don’t know, it’s kind of a weird idea.”

“Come on, pal,” Bucky mutters. “You said the same thing when you proposed, and that turned out to be a pretty great idea.”

“Yeah, that was a great idea,” Steve agrees, beaming. “I was just… don’t laugh. I was thinking… how do you feel about getting a dog?”

Bucky tries not to laugh, really hard, hides his face in Steve’s shoulder, holds his breath, but it’s just too much.

“Buck,” he whines, as Bucky’s laughs get louder, shaking the couch. “Come on.”

“A dog?” Bucky echoes, trying to sound serious.

“Yes,” Steve says indignantly. “I know it sounds dumb-”

“It’s not dumb.”

“You’re still laughing,” Steve protests.

“Not because it’s dumb,” Bucky replies. “I think it’s a great idea.”

“I know it’s… wait, you do?”

“Yeah, Stevie, why not a dog? We love dogs.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, unsure, like it wasn’t his idea. “Yeah, we do.”

“I can take care of it during the day and you can take nights and weekends. We can go out to the park more often,” Bucky continues.

“Yeah,” Steve repeats. “Sounds good.”

Bucky laughs again, and nuzzles further into Steve’s neck. “Yeah, let’s get a dog.”

*

Steve walks into work beaming like an idiot. Which startles some of his coworkers who have gotten used to him trudging into work on Mondays with a scowl or a frown. But Natasha just walks on up to him with a smirk.

“I take it went well?” She asks, arms crossed over her chest.

“He said yes,” Steve tells her. “He seemed to really like the idea and we’re gonna talk about it more tonight.”

“Congratulations,” Natasha says, shaking her head somewhat fondly, but also someone exasperated.

“This is a big deal,” he explains, like he hasn’t already had this conversation with her about the importance of pets in a developing relationship. He did research on it.

“Yes, I know, about rebuilding trust and communication and sharing experience and responsibility, and blah, blah, blah.”

“It’s just… I think we can do this, we can fix it and get back on track,” Steve says, plopping down into his office chair. “Not just getting back to where we were but trying new things together.”

“Honestly, Steve, I’m happy for you, but I can’t believe I forgot how sappy you are when you’re in the honeymoon phase,” Natasha says.

“I’m no worse than you are with Clint,” Steve shoots back.

“Lies,” she replies. “These are lies. Clint and I are not adopting a dog. Clint and I do not pout at work all the time, or whine about how much we miss each other at 9:30 in the morning. Clint and I are professionals and you are gross and act like a baby.”

“I just love him so much, Nat,” Steve sighs.

“Ew, see, that’s it; you’re being gross, and I’m leaving,” Natasha grumbles, lightly punching his arm. She stalks back to her desk, shaking her head.

“Also you’re coming over for dinner on Saturday,” Steve calls after her.

“I hate both of you,” she responds, and Steve just keeps smiling.

*

Bucky takes a few deep breath and downs another cracker to soothe his stomach. Steve is right; he and Becca are being stupid. They shouldn’t be fighting over this. Especially now that it’s been almost a month and nothing is going wrong. He was right, and he’ll tell Becca that, but in a nice way, and she’ll be happy for him and they can move on.

It’s a little close to 4, which means he probably won’t be here when Steve gets home, which feels wrong, but he’s had a very busy day, meeting with publishers and filing paperwork. He leaves Steve a little note on the fridge that he spends a little too long making cute and sweet, and sends him a text about ordering take out, before he finally steels himself and walks to his car.

He and Becca aren’t 5 anymore, they can handle adult conflicts without fall apart. That doesn’t stop him from shaking his leg the entire ride to her apartment and from walking back and forth on the stairs too many times as he hesitates.

He makes it to the door. He knocks on the door. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous to face his sister of all people but he is. But he knocks on the door and hears her walking towards the door and tells himself that he can’t leave now.

Becca doesn’t look surprised to see him, just resigned.

“What happened?” She asks, expecting the worst probably, and it still stings a little to think of the worst being Steve.

“Nothing,” Bucky replies, and the word sinks into his chest. “Nothing happened.”

“Nothing as in, it’s still the same?” She continues. He just shakes his head, starting to smile a little.

“It’s going really well,” he explains. “It’s like we’re getting back to how we used to be.”

“I’m happy for you,” she says, sounding very hesitant.

“You should come over for dinner on Saturday,” he suggests before he loses his nerve. Becca frowns.

“Are you sure that’s the best idea?” She asks.

“I know how you feel about everything, but… it’s really different. It’s going great. And I want you to see it.”

“I was just worried-”

“I know. And… I know you had every right to be. But it’s different now. It’s like… like he loves me again, Becca. He wants to get a dog. We talk all the time again, like we used to. It’s going so well.”

“Okay,” she says, sighing. “I’ll come.”

“Just be nice, okay?”

“Fine,” she agrees. “I really am happy for you. If it’s really going well.”

“I know. And it is. God, it’s like a second chance, Becca.”

“Just… be careful, okay? I remember when you were like this the first time. How excited you were, how certain you were that everything was going to be fine. He broke your heart, and it destroyed you. I don’t want to see that happen again.”

“It won’t happen again. Things are different now, and I’m not gonna let it go wrong again,” Bucky assures her. She doesn’t look convinced, but she sighs and nods.

“Just… if it does happen again, or starts to happen, don’t let it hurt you. It’s not your fault, okay? It’s him, and I want you to get out of there.”

“Becca, it’s going to be fine.”

“Alright, if you say so.”

*

Steve opens the front door to a quiet and empty house. It makes everything feel off, not hearing Bucky typing away or getting dinner ready, but he pushes back the strange turning in his stomach. He hangs up his jacket, puts his messenger bag away and then just stands there, not sure what to do.

The living room is empty, without Bucky buried into the corner with his computer in place. Steve walks over and turns on the TV for some noise, moves some pillows around, tries to remember what he used to do with his time when Bucky wasn’t around. He heads to the kitchen next, wondering if he should attempt making dinner.

There’s a post it on the fridge and Steve grins just looking at it. Natasha has a fairly good point, they have been dangerously sappy lately, but Steve doesn’t really care. He’s just too relieved to have the chance to be sappy again.

He roots through the drawer next to the sink, looking through the take out menus for the Chinese place they like but it’s not there. He shoots Bucky a text about it, tries to pay attention to the news, while he waits for a response.

Leaving Beccas now. I think i may have left it in my desk upstairs. Bucky responds after a few minutes. Steve jumps up immediately, eager to do something to pass the time until Bucky gets back. Becca lives almost 15 minutes away, so he can get the menu in 2, put in their order and then Bucky’ll arrive, and Steve can ask about how it went with Becca while they wait, and then they can watch some TV.

They’ll have time to talk more about Saturday and the dog, and Steve bounds up the stairs, a little eager just thinking about how much he has to look forward to.

Bucky’s desk is a mess, like it always is, and it makes Steve shake his head fondly. There’s no menu in the stacks of papers and books on top of the desk so he roots through the drawers on each side, finding more books and more papers, shoved and stuffed like Bucky hadn’t had time to put anything in correctly. It makes him smile.

He finds the menu in the very bottom drawer on the left, underneath a few notebooks. How it even ended up in Bucky’s desk, Steve has no clue, but he just pulls it out and is about to put everything back into the drawer as neatly as he can when he catches a glimpse of the stack of papers beneath the menu. He fumbles with the papers in his arms, but quickly gathers them up again, because he surely misread with just a quick glance.

He feels like he’s violating Bucky’s privacy a little, but it’s not like Bucky was opposed to him going into the desk, he suggested it after all. So he leans in a little glancing at the paper, just to make sure.

But the word is still there. He drops the other books and papers for real this time, and pulls the packet out of the desk drawer.

The word is still there.

“Oh,” Steve breathes softly, feeling his heart plummet. He sits down on the carpeted floor, hard, and just stares at the page. “Oh gosh.”

He feels a little like he’s about to throw up, a little lightheaded and probably like he’s going to pass out. But strangely enough, he doesn’t feel surprised. He just hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Bucky wants a divorce.

“Fuck,” Steve whispers, like the world has fallen out from under him.

Chapter Text

He falls in love with Bucky too fast. And he knows it. Steve’s never dated much. He was scrawny as a teen, not unattractive but not something girls or guys were really into, and he was always too sick to have time for a committed friendship much less any other type of relationship. And then he’d been so caught up in work at Shield and saving the world that he just didn’t stop much to make time for dating. That’s not to say that he hadn’t had any relationships, but those that he did were far and few between and while he considered himself in love with each of them, it always took time and came too late. It always fell apart before long because he was so focused on his next mission or assignment that the other person would assume that he just didn’t care, and before he could convince them otherwise they were gone.

But with Bucky, he already knew. Maybe it was because he had almost lost Bucky once, or maybe because it was Bucky. But they had been dating officially for about a week since getting coffee together, out at the movies together on a Saturday night, and Bucky snorts at something on screen and it just hits Steve.

He loves him.

Why else would he ditch work for a coffee date, or spend his Saturday night at dinner and a movie instead of finishing the mission report from his latest trip? What else could explain the lightness in his chest or the strange feeling in his stomach?

“Hey, you alright?” Bucky whispers, hand resting lightly on top of Steve’s.

“Yeah,” he chokes out, nodding. “Sorry, I just remembered something.”

Bucky’s still looking at him a little funny, but settles his head on his shoulder with a shrug.

He loves him. Steve’s not sure what to do with this information. He can’t remember the rest of the movie, even though it was really entertaining, everything had been narrowed down to Bucky’s head against his shoulder and a new weight on his chest.
He loves Bucky and he knows this now and not when it's too late, so maybe he just needs to not screw this up. Maybe knowing ahead of time, he can try not to make stupid mistakes. Maybe this will work out like nothing else before has.

He comes back to himself on the walk home, unsure of how the movie ended or when they started walking. Bucky’s quiet at his side, but smiling, fingers interlaced. It's a nice night and the weather is better than it should be for this time of year. He feels like he should ask a question but the silence is calming and content so he keeps his mouth shut.

He walks up the stairs to Bucky's apartment even though he’s not going to spend the night. He does have to wake up early for a short mission tomorrow morning and while procrastinating a write up is one thing, not being completely prepared for a mission is not something he’ll ever be able to do.

When they reach the door, Bucky turns to him with a soft smile. He tilts his head towards the door, asking if he's coming inside but he just shakes his head with a small frown. Bucky doesn't seem phased.

“This was great,” he says, quiet, hand squeezing Steve's. “You free later this week? We can do something similar?”

Steve nods again, grinning. “Yeah. I'll text you.”

Bucky beams and leans in briefly for a quick kiss that lingers, has them pressed up against Bucky’s door for a few moments.

“‘Night, Steve,” Bucky sighs, pressing their foreheads together gently.

“‘Night, Buck,” he replies, stepping back slightly. And he means to stop there, but his brain is not cooperating. “I love you.”

For a second all is fine, and then Steve freezes, realizing what just came out of his mouth. God, he may have realized it, but he hasn't know Bucky that long and jeez, what if he said it too soon. They've only been really dating for about a week and it's been great but-

“Love you, too, Stevie,” Bucky says, pulling him back in for another kiss that's actually short this time.

At first Steve thinks Bucky doesn't understand what he really said, but when he meets Bucky's eyes, he sees the same realization he came to about an hour ago.

He doesn't want to leave now, not when there's so much more to discover, but it's late and he has a mission tomorrow and he can't. So he smiles at Bucky again, pulls him in close for a hug and then reluctantly walks back towards the stairs. Bucky waits until he's on the first landing before going inside.

Steve's not sure to do with this revelation or all these new feelings, but it seems a lot like hope.

*

“Steve,” Bucky calls, because the house is too quiet. “I’m back.”

The TV is on in the living room but Steve’s not on the couch. Bucky drops his keys onto the coffee table.

“It went really well,” he continues, since Steve is probably in the bathroom. He hears a thud from upstairs, so he drops his jacket on the arm of the couch, and makes his way upstairs. “Are you still looking for the menu?”

In the room, Steve is kneeling on the floor hunched over, trying to gather up the papers that are scattered around him like the desk exploded.

“Jesus, pal, wasn’t it in the-” Steve spins around like he just realized Bucky was in the room, eyes wide like he’s caught with his hand in the cookie jar or something, cheeks wet.

“Steve?” Bucky asks, stepping forward. “Babe, what happened?”

Steve just stares at him like a deer in headlights, and then Bucky looks down and realizes what Steve is holding in his hand.

“Fuck,” he breathes. Right, right, he buried them beneath the Chinese food menu and a million other things that he thought he wouldn’t need again in the bottom drawer and he hadn’t moved them or destroyed them. Why hadn’t he just thrown them away?

“I-I wasn’t,” Steve begins, voice rough and shaking. “I wasn’t snooping. They were under the menu and I wasn’t… I…”

“Steve, look, it’s… not what you think…” It sounds weak in his own ears.

“Why did you say something before…?” Steve asks. And Bucky wants to know before what exactly, but it’s not important.

“Look, it doesn’t matter,” he insists.

“How can you-? Of course it matters, Buck,” he hisses.

“Steve,” he snaps, reaching down and snatching the papers from his hands. “Just forget about it.”

“I can’t. If you… if you’re not happy,” Steve starts, chest heaving, lip quivering.

“Steve! It’s not important!” he repeats, feeling his chest tighten, panic sweeping over him. This was the blowout he’d been bracing himself for. The reason he never wanted to bring up the papers back when they needed it. This was two years of problems they never talked about, never addressed, coming to a head. He’s frantically searching for way out because there’s a reason they avoided talking about this shit.

“How is it not important that you want a d-divorce?” Steve shouts back.

Bucky rips the stack of divorce papers clean in two.

It feels satisfying amongst the panicked clutter in his head. Steve looks horrified.

“There. It’s over. Leave it alone, Steve,” he pleads.

“Buck,” Steve breaths, staring at the destroyed pile on the floor in disbelief. “Why’d you-?”

“It’s over, Steve,” he repeats.

“No, it’s not,” Steve growls, staring up at him. Bucky wants to throw up. “You want a divorce, Buck. You don’t have to hide it. If that’s what you want then-”

“Of course I don’t want a fucking divorce, Steve!”

“Then why-? Bucky, you don’t need to protect me. If you want out, then you shouldn’t… don’t do anything you don’t want to for me,” Steve says, and there are tears dutifully trailing down his cheeks, and Bucky would want to comfort him if he weren’t so fucking mad.

“Like you didn’t do the same thing,” he spits out. Steve jolts like he’s been slapped.

“What are you saying?”

“I never wanted a divorce, Steve! I did it for your noble ass.”

“Buck, I-I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong? I don’t-”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about! Please! You stopped loving me, Steve!”

“Bucky,” he whimpers.

“And it was fine. Well, it wasn’t fine for while, but then I was alright with it. You didn’t love me, hell, you might have hated me, I don’t know, and you were too goddamn noble to say anything, but… well, I still loved you, Steve, and that was okay too. So Becca had her lawyer friend help me put everything together, and I was gonna take care of it for you, since I knew you wouldn’t. And I don’t want you to feel guilty about because it’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. Maybe mine. If I did something that caused you to… well, I’m sorry. I just… I love you, and I wanted you to be happy. Didn’t want you to be not happy on my account. But then I was a little selfish, didn’t want to bring it up. I knew it was going to end, but I just… It’s stupid, there was nothing left of us but I still wanted to cling onto it for a little long, so I didn’t bring it up and that’s on me I guess. I was going to though. I was gonna build up the courage. I just didn’t want to lose you, even though you were already gone. And then-”

“Bucky,” Steve chokes out. “Bucky, please shut up.”

He stops talking. He’s not sure where half those words came from, just that they all came pouring out. He doesn’t feel angry anymore, just empty. His cheeks are wet too now, but he’s not sure when he started crying.

When he finally builds the courage to look at Steve, he ends up not looking down. At some point Steve stood up, but his shoulders are hunched and his eyes are wide and he looks devastated and so heartbroken, smaller than he did when he was curled up on the floor.

“Buck, why didn’t you say anything?” he asks, voice breaking over the entire phrase.

“I was going to,” Bucky replies, voice quiet, like he doesn’t know how to shout again. “I really was, Stevie. I know I was being selfish, but every morning. You gotta know, I was going to, but then… things started looking up, Steve. I thought we had a second chance and I wouldn’t screw up again. Things were getting better, right? You were starting to love me again. That’s the reason I stopped trying to bring it up. Otherwise I-”

“Bucky,” Steve breathes. “No, Buck. Not… I never stopped loving you, Bucky.”

It’s like his understanding of the world and his life comes to a screeching halt.

“What?” he breathes.

“Why would you think that?” Steve asks, eyes searching Bucky’s desperately, lie he truly can’t understand. “I- Bucky, God, there hasn’t been a goddamn day I haven’t loved you.”

Bucky didn’t think it was possible for him to feel this… angry again, and so fast.

“Well you sure have a funny way of fucking showing it,” he says, voice calm and steady but seething.

“Buck?” Steve questions, eyes widening.

“Two years, Steve! Two years of steadily growing apart, of doing our best to avoid each other, never talking, never touching, clinging to the other side of the bed because God forbid we wake up next to each other. Two years of loneliness and silent suffering, and you mean to tell me that, what, you love me during all of that and still let it happen!”

“Bucky,” Steve whispers. “I thought-”

“No! No, I’m not… You don’t…”

Bucky is seconds away from exploding with all of the rage inside him, and he can’t stand the helpless look on Steve’s face, the awestruck devastation like he’s realizing the same things Bucky is. He turns on his heel and storms out of the room, ignoring Steve as he calls after him.

His head is swimming, pulse is racing, and he feels like he can’t breathe, the air is too thick with tension and anger and he manages not to slam the door on his way out but it’s a close thing.

*

Steve’s palms are sweating, but if he keeps them on his lap, Bucky won’t notice. It makes eating a bit of a challenge but, well, he’s not a Shield agent for nothing.

It’s been six months of the best relationship of his life. He loves Bucky more than anything else in his life, more than his job, more than anything. They’re practically living together at this point and it’s all been moving pretty fast, fast enough that steve might be scared, but he’s not anymore.

He almost died. Not in the forced recuperation type of near death experience, but the cold metal gun to his forehead type experience. Natasha saved him, like she’s prone to, teasing, “That’s 13 to 4, Steve. How are you ever going to catch up?” But her voice shook a little. It had been close. And the only thing that had run through his mind as it happened was the fear that he was never going to see Bucky again. The second they had debriefed, Steve found himself in front of a jewelry store and now, a little under 16 hours since it happened, he was sitting at one of their favorite restaurants, staring at Bucky across the table, palms sweating, and a velvet box in his pocket.

He doesn’t know what he’s thinking, or planning to do. It’s been six months and they’re practically living together, but not yet.

They have appetizers and their main course, splitting two like they usually do. Bucky’s doing most of the talking, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Steve wants to tell him he almost died this morning, but he can’t. They’re in the middle of dessert and Bucky’s in the middle of another story about his agent, and there’s crumbs of the chocolate cake they’re sharing on the corner of Bucky’s mouth, and he find the courage to do it.

“I love you,” he says, wincing, because he is interrupting his boyfriend in the middle of his story like he’s not paying attention. Bucky just smiles.

“I love you, too,” Bucy relies, reaching across the table for Steve’s hand, which is still a little sweaty, but he doesn’t comment.

“I’m in love with you,” Steve continues. Bucky nods fondly. “And… I woke up this morning, and you weren’t there, and I hated it. And, I wanna wake up to you every morning.”

He fumbles getting the ring out of his pocket, curses under his breath a few times, because of course he’s screwing this up too.

Bucky’s gripping his hand like a vice, and Steve can feel his pulse racing.

“Steve,” he breathes. “Steve. Steve.”

He doesn’t even try to attempt opening the box with one hand, just puts it down on the table on front of Bucky, trying to remember why he thought this was a good idea.

“I know it’s a little soon. And you can totally say no, and it’s fine, we don’t have to. I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s kind of a stupid idea, but you know, if you do want-”

“Steve. God, of course. Jesus, Steve,” Bucky replies, all but launching himself across the table. “Yes, of course.”

*
Steve’s not sure how he ends up on the floor again. Just that one second he’s watching Bucky storm out of the house and the next he’s bent over, curled up on the ground, trying not to dry heave.

It’s all his fault. He made Bucky feel- and Bucky thought that- and then he got the-

Steve can’t complete a thought, can’t think of what’s really been happening the past two years, what he’s been doing to Bucky this whole time, what Bucky must have thought of him.

His phone starts ringing, and he’s picking it up before he can tell his brain not to.

“Steve.” It’s not Bucky and he’s not sure why he thought it would be. It’s Natasha. “We have a bit of an emergency. You need to get down to HQ, right now. Bring Bucky."

She sounds scared. And that’s always a sign that things are about to go to hell in a handbasket.

“What’s going on?” His voice is hoarse and weak.

“Steve? What happened?” she asks, sounding genuinely concerned. Things are really bad, he can tell.

“Bucky and I got in a fight. It’s not… What’s going on at Shield?”

“Remember that security breach a few weeks back?” Natasha asks. “The one when you rushed home as soon as we were cleared. Turns out someone got access to Level 9 files.”

Level 9 clearance is one of the highest. It takes him a second to remember what they’re for, and when he does, he feels like throwing up again.

Level 9: agents’ personal information: home addresses, family members, children, and spouses.

“Natasha, he’s not here,” he gasps out. “He ran out. I don’t know where he’s going. Natasha?”

“Call him now,” she says. He hears some strange noises from the other end of the line. “If you can’t reach him… get over here as quick as you can. Steve, please don’t panic.”

“It’s a little late for that,” he mutters, trying not to hyperventilate. “Nat, I can’t lose him.”

“You’re not going to, Steve,” she assures him, sounding deadly serious. “I promise. Get here fast.”

*

In hindsight, he should have just gone to Becca's. Becca has booze, and warm blankets and their mom's collection of Disney movies and he can just stay there for the night and then confront- or well, finish confronting Steve in the morning.

But that would involve showing up on Becca's doorstep and explaining what happened, having to deal with the knowing look in her eye. She wouldn't say anything, but it would be there in her eyes.

He's too angry to deal with that, would probably only end up getting into a fight with Becca too, just after fixing things with her.

So he ends up in a dingy bar, a few blocks away from their house. A place he used to go when he needed time to think outside of his study. A place that Steve has never been to and probably doesn't even know exists.

He's not sure what he's drinking, but it burns on the way down. It doesn't make him loosen up at all, so he sits on a stool, scowling at the dirty wooden bar top, refilling his drink every few minutes. He wants to go home. He wants to go back five hours and burn the goddamn papers before leaving for Becca's. It's getting late, and he wants to be home with Steve, warm and loved.

He orders another drink, and tries to stop thinking.

It's about a minute later when the bartender places another drink in front of him and points to a guy a few seats down at the bar. This was another thing that drew him her back when things were rough. It was a little petty, but even though Steve didn't love him anymore (or at least, that's what he thought) he could still get attention from some stranger that liked him. And a free drink. He never did anything else, still loved Steve to the bottom of him being, but it was a great self confidence booster.

The guy's standing by his stool a few moments later, grinning lecherously.

"Haven't seen you round here before," the man drawls, quirking an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I don't usually need to get shitfaced," Bucky explains.

"You look like you need a good time," the man continues. "I've been told I'm pretty good at showing people a good time."

"I appreciate it, pal, but I'm married, pretty happily most of the time," he explains, showing off the simple gold wedding band Steve gave him so long ago. He finds himself staring at the ring. God, he doesn't even know why he's angry at Steve. They both got themselves into this mess, and there's no reason he should be mopping at a bar when he could be at home with Steve, putting everything else on the table and fixing the things that need to be fixed between them.

"Oh I know," the guys says, and Bucky's jolted out of his thoughts. "I know your husband through work. My name's Brock."

Chapter Text

Steve’s never been a reckless driver before, but he blows half a dozen red lights, speeds 30 miles over the limit, and nearly crashed three times on his way to the office. When he reaches his floor, Natasha’s already waiting by the elevator door. He nearly collapsed onto her.

“What happened?” She asks, quietly, hand rubbing his back. Steve reaches into his pocket with a shaking hand to pull out Bucky’s phone.

“He left it behind,” he explains. “I called it three times, found it in between the couch cushions. He was so mad when he left- God.” He choked on a sob.

“Deep breaths,” Natasha instructs. “Where would he go? Start there.” 

“I called Rebecca. He's not there, and I think I may have freaked her out,” he continues, taking a deep breath.

“What if he's fine and tries to come home?” Natasha asks.

“I, uh, I left him a note. To call me as soon as possible, but I… He's in trouble, Nat. I just feel it. I know,” he says.

“We're going to get him back,” Natasha says, seething my determined. “He's going to be fine, Steve.”

“We?” Steve asks, hopeful. Natasha slaps him on the back of the head.

“Don't be an idiot,” Natasha hisses. “Come on, we need to get you debriefed.”

*

They get married on a Saturday in November. It's chilly out, a little overcast, but it's beautiful and Steve's never felt so happy in his life. It's the first weekend he's had completely free in weeks and he can't think of a better way to spend it.

Bucky looks gorgeous, like he always does. He fidgets nervously throughout the entire ceremony, keeps staring at Steve in disbelief, a little scared like it all might disappear. Steve just holds his hand as tight as he can, breaths deeply and manages to not stutter through the vows that took weeks to perfect.

Bucky seems relieved when it's over, the wedding and the reception, collapsing on their new bed in the house they bought six days ago.

“Have I ever told you how much my family sucks?” Bucky groans into the pillow. Steve grins, rolling his eyes.

The Barnes family, and all its extensions, was huge. Dozens of people that Steve had never met that accepted him into their group with open arms, acting like he belonged there. It was the second best part of the day. The first being Bucky of course.

“I dunno, we should invite them over every weekend,” Steve suggests, kicking off his dress shoes and taking Bucky's off the bed as well.

“Steve,” he says sternly, hand flailing up from the bed. “I love you, but if this marriage is gonna last, you're gonna have to stop being a little shit.”

“But you love me being a little shit,” Steve reminds him, laying down on the bed next to him.

“Huh, you're right. I guess I do,” Bucky sighs. “Alright we have a week before my first draft’s due date, where do you want to go for our honeymoon? Would Puerto Rico be too cheesy?”

Steve chuckles, curling up against Bucky's side.

“We've been to Puerto Rico,” Steve decides. “Let's do something new.”

“Alright,” Bucky agrees, stifling a yawn. “I know there's all this build up for wedding night sex and what not but I'm honestly going to pass out. How do you feel about morning-after-the-wedding-night sex?”

“Sounds just as good,” Steve agrees.

In the morning he will get a call from Phil Coulson about a month long mission in California. He’ll protest a little because he's been looking forward to their honeymoon since the night he proposed, but it's a level 10 threat, lives are at stake, the world is in danger. He’ll cave.

He’ll tell Bucky about it later that day: a business trip with the heads of the company, something there's absolutely no way he can get out of. Bucky’ll frown, then try not to look too upset for Steve's sake.

“We’ll Skype?” Bucky’ll suggest. And Steve’ll make something up about poor connection because he can't explain its a code black mission. And Bucky’ll say, “Oh”, quietly, looking down at the floor. But he'll smile for Steve's sake and see him off at the airport three days later.

Bucky’ll go back to the airport a month later to pick him up, trying to seem casual instead of showing how anxious and relieved he really feels. He’ll ask Steve about the trip and Steve, sounding and looking exhausted, will say, “It went well.” And not say anything else on the matter.

And Bucky will say, “Okay. I missed you.”

And Steve will say, “I missed you, too.” And that's the last thing they'll say for the rest of the night.

*

Steve knows Shield protocol inside and out, spent way too long memorizing it in case of emergency. That doesn’t mean he agrees with all of it, but he knows it.

In cases of hostage negotiation or hostage rescue, family members, significant others, and spouses can’t be involved in the preparation or execution of any Shield-issued response.

Steve thinks it's bullshit.

In fact he's ready to tell the higher-ups where they can shove their bullshit policy, but Natasha calms him down.

“They're not going to let me-”

“Yes, I have fully functioning ears, Steve. I heard what they said,” Natasha replies gruffly.

“They don't even care-”

“Of course they care, Steve. But there are 23 people missing, children included. This was a planned attack. It may be a trap. They can't let everyone go in to save their family, and they can't send in anyone who won't have a level head or anyone who's going to be playing favorites.”

“I'm not going to be playing favorites,” Steve protests. “I'm trying to help.”

“Are you saying if it came down, life or death, to saving Bucky or saving someone else, you wouldn't save him?” she asks, voice somehow calm, while the very thought of someone hurting Bucky is making his stomach turn inside out.

“In a heartbeat,” he breathes, and… proves her entire argument.

“You’re biased,” she finishes, gently. He heaved in a breath, warding off the panic that's been threatening to consume him since he talked to Becca.

“So what then?” He asks. “I sit here and wait while he's in danger. I let someone else make that decision and pray that they don’t let him die for someone else. I can’t-”

He takes another breath. Natasha touches his shoulder, comforting.

“The way I see it,” she starts, speaking slowly and soothingly. “You have two options: you stay here like the good agent you are, and trust that I will do everything to get him back to you-”

“Of course I trust you, I just-”

“Or,” she interrupts sternly. He shuts his mouth. “You go rogue, follow me in, and Steve… you might lose your job.”

He hates himself, but he thinks about it. Not for long, but he thinks about years and years of throwing himself into Shield, of getting everything he ever wanted out of life: helping people, being useful, making a difference. He put Shield before everything because it was everything to him.

He thinks about Bucky, about how cranky he is before coffee in the morning, about how he's never more comfortable that when he's wrapped around him on the couch, about every single second of the past few weeks, and every success they've made, destroying the distance between them that's built up.

It's not that hard of a decision.

“When are we leaving?” he asks, staring at the floor instead of meeting Natasha's eyes.

She pulls him into another hug.

*

When Bucky opens his eyes, he can't see. When Bucky wakes up- he doesn't remember falling asleep. Is he home? Did Steve-?

Where was he? Why was he sitting up? He could see. Was he still asleep?

His thoughts felt disjointed, interrupted, like things were being redacted as he was thinking them.

He doesn't think he got home.

“Morning, Mr. Rogers,” someone says. Bucky can't see them, can't place the voice either. Is it morning?

He has a million questions on the tip of his tongue but his mouth feels like cotton.

“Mr. Rogers, we’re going to ask you a few questions about your husband,” the person, it's a man, says.

There was a man at the bar, said he knew Steve through work. Bucky can't remember much after that.

“Where's... Steve?” He croaks, squinting, trying to see anything about the person talking.

“Mr. Rogers, I'll be asking the questions,” the man says. “You're going to answer them. What has your husband told you about Shield?”

“What's Shield?” Bucky asks. Out of the darkness, something slams into his jaw. He hisses, acute pain exploding in his cheek.

“Steven Grant Rogers,” the man announces. “Level 7 clearance, active field agent, codename… Captain America. Very patriotic. What has he told you?”

“Steve… My… He works at an insurance company,” Bucky says, words tumbling out before he can stop them. He works at an insurance company, but he’ll never talk about it; he likes goofy comedies and comically bad disaster movies; he likes being the big spoon, he can’t cook to save his life, he makes the worst omelets in the world, Steve never stopped loving him, but let them fall apart anyway, Steve still loves him.

Another slap drags him out of his thoughts. Bucky tries to remember where he is.

“Let’s start again, Mr. Rogers.”

*

Steve's never liked violence. That's not what being in the field was about. It was about protecting people, stopping bad people, helping the confused.

Yet he still gets a vindictive pleasure from slamming Brock Rumlow’s head through a wall.

“Where is he?” he spits.

“They,” Natasha corrects, grunting as she knocks out another guard.

“Where are they?” he amends, only slightly sheepish.

“Your husband’s sweet,” Brock spits. “Where'd you find him?”

Steve slams him into the wall again. It's slightly concerning how much he's enjoying this.

“Where is he?” Steve repeats, shaking him by the collar.

“Steve!” Natasha calls. “I found something.”

The rage boiling in him is quickly doused by ice cold fear. He drops Rumlow, making sure he's out cold before rushing over to Natasha. He lets her enter first, afraid of what might be waiting. The room is dark, but from the light in the hall he can start to decipher what he's looking at.

It's not really a room, it's a hallway, barred cells on either side, all the way down. He peers into the closest cell, heart racing.

He recognizes the woman in the cell. Deborah Peters, the wife of an agent that works on the floor below him at Shield.

“Natasha,” he calls. “Come see this.”

Moments later he's pried the door of the cell open. Natasha goes in, cuts the ropes that are binding Deborah Peters to a chair in the middle of the cell. Her wrists are bruised, but- Steve sighs in relief- she's alive.

“Steve,” Natasha says, helping Deborah to her feet. “I've got this. Go find him.”

That's all he needs to go running down the hall, checking every cell, some empty, some set up similarly to Deborah's. When he sees Bucky, his heart skips a beat.

He's tied to the chair like Deborah was, arms behind his back. His head is hanging, hair sticking up at all angles.

“Bucky,” he breathes. There's a large ugly looking bruise on his left cheek, blood trickling down from his temple. Steve feels like throwing up but that's not a priority.

He practically rips the metal door off its hinges, rushing into pull Bucky off the chair.

“Buck,” he repeats, cupping the back of his head, pulling him in close.

“Steve,” he groans.

“Oh, thank God, Bucky. I'm so sorry, sweetie. I'm so sorry.”

“Steve,” Bucky repeats, hands coming up and fisting in Steve's vest.

For the first time since getting Natasha's call, Steve cries.

Chapter Text

He and Steve got in a fight. A really bad one. A scary bad one. A “this is it” type of fight.

He left. He was scared and angry and hurt. So he went to a bar, even though running away from problems does not help. He should know he's been running from this exact conversation with Steve for two years.

At the bar, he's angry. Angry at Steve. Angry at himself. And a little drunk.

He meets a guy who says he knows Steve from work. Steve never talks about work. Steve never talked about work. Bucky doesn't know why Steve has never trusted him.

He doesn't remember going home.

He has a nightmare.

When he wakes up, Bucky feels hungover. His head is pounding, his mouth has never been so dry. Steve's not in bed, but the sheets are soft and he's warm at the very least.

When he opens his eyes, squinting at the bright florescent lights of the room, he stares up at a vast and perfect white ceiling, covered in thin and pristine white sheets. The left side of his face feels swollen, his chest feels sore.

He's not at home, and he's too hungover to panic. He glances around slowly, and finds Steve sitting next to his bed, holding his hand, eyes drooping.

Bucky clears his throat and Steve jumps awake.

“Buck?” He whimpers. He looks like a mess, his eyes are red and bloodshot, his hair’s dirty and flops down his forehead. His other hand comes up to Bucky’s cheek, gentle and careful. “How are you feeling?”

“Where-?” he croaks. “What happened?”

“Shhh, swe- here, I'll get you some water. Don't move too much, okay?” Steve says, voice soft and quiet. He sweeps some of his hair back, getting to his feet.

“Steve?” He protests, reaching for his shirt sleeves. He remembers darkness and questions that don't make sense and pain that came out of nowhere. He remembers some blinding light, and then Steve, impossibly strong and there, sturdy safety.

“It'll just be a second, Buck, promise.” He looks like he's going to cry.

And he is only gone a second like he runs from the bed to somewhere out of Bucky's field of view and back. His hands shake as he helps Bucky sit up and passes over the water.

The cool water is heaven on his sore, dry throat.

“You were kidnapped,” Steve states.  “By a man named Brock Rumlow who works for a group called Hydra.”

“Wh-”

“And it was because of me,” Steve continues, breath hitching.  “I work for a government organization, called Shield.  I try to help people, save lives.  And I never told you, because it’s against protocol and it would have put you in danger, but we got hacked and you were in danger anyway and it’s all because of me.  I’m so sorry, Buck.  God, I…”  Steve drops into the chair again, burying his face in his hands.  

“Well, that’s a relieve,” Bucky mumbles.  “Good to know all that lying about work was for a good reason.”

“Buck?”

“Is there anything else?” Bucky asks wearily.  “Were you really an only child? Do you actually not know how to cook?  So you lied about your job for two years and had me convinced that you couldn’t stand me, is there anything else I should know about before your evil twin shows up or something?”

Steve shakes his head, head hung like he’s taking the weight of the world on his shoulders again.  Bucky wants to reach out and smooth away the furrow in his brow.  He’s mad, about all of it, the lying and the misunderstandings, but it’s out in the open now, where they can deal with it, instead of ignoring it, and fix things.

The cool water is like heaven on his sore dry throat. He downs the whole glass in one chug. So of course Steve reaches behind him and places a stack of divorce papers on the bed next to him.  The pages have been taped back together with a neat precision.  Bucky feels like he’s going to throw up.

“Oh,” he sighs, not sure if he should laugh or cry.  “So that’s what this was.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve repeats.  “I wish… I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

“Were you never going to tell me then?” Bucky asks, glaring at the stupid papers.  “Just string me along forever?”

“About Shield?” Steve asks, glancing up briefly.  “I just wanted to keep you safe.”

“Not about- About this, Steve,”  Bucky says, gesturing to the papers.  “Was there ever anything… Were we ever real? Did it just become convenient or was it always fake?”

“Bucky, what’re you-?”

“Was anything real between us, or was it always a fucking sham?” His voice is too hoarse for shouting but he’s going to try anyway.

“Nothing was… Buck?”

“No more lies, Steve.  Was I or was I not a convenient little cover story?  A part of some stupid secret identity?  And now I know and it’s fucking over.”

“Of course not! I love you. So much. And I’ve loved you since the day we met.  My job was my entire life, but you were always more. It was never some act.”

“Then why the fuck am I looking at these again?”

“Bucky, I am probably the shittiest husband in earth. I have fucked up in every way possible.  I lied to you about my job.  You thought I hated you.  You got kidnapped because of me!  You literally thought our entire marriage was a sham 5 seconds ago.  I thought I could do this, be a good partner.  I thought that because I love you, I could learn how to be a good boyfriend and husband, but I never tried.  I had chance after chance to make things right with us, but I didn’t.  I thought I could just get better at this over time, without putting in any effort and that’s not fair to you.”

“Okay.  Steve, you screwed up, but I’ve screwed up, too.  I was so afraid of losing you that I didn’t say a word.  I could have put in some effort to keep us on speaking terms last year, but I didn’t.  I just stood back and let us avoid our problems, because I thought that would be best, that I could avoid the pain and confrontation by letting us grow further and further apart. That’s on me.”

“But it was my fault.  Because I lied to you, and I couldn't talk to you, and I put work over you, over us, every time.”

“You’re not hearing me.  You fucked up, sure.  And I ignored it, I let it all happen without helping you or us.  But that's in the past now.  No more secrets.  We can start from scratch.”

Steve shakes his head furiously.  “How can you even say that?  After everything I’ve done?”

“Steve,” Bucky grumbles, reaching for his hand.  “I meant it when I said I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.  And that included all the ups and downs along the way.  I love you, and how I feel for you is something I can’t imagining feeling with anyone else.  I never wanted a divorce, I just thought you did.  I never wanted to give up on us, and I still don’t.  These past few weeks have been amazing and it’s because you’ve been trying and I’ve been trying.  And that was still with the lies and not talking about our feelings.  Steve, we have a second chance here, to really start over and fix things.  And if you really don’t want to try, then we won’t, but why shouldn’t we?”

“It’ll be more like a fourth chance,” Steve whispers, staring down at their hands, clasped together on top of the papers.  “I don’t deserve it.”

“Says who?”

“Says the last three chances.”

“Steve.”

“I don’t want to hurt you again.  I don’t want to screw us up again.”

“Then don’t,” Bucky says, smiling softly.  “It’s my turn to screw us up.  And then we’ll fix it.  Okay?”

“I love you,” Steve says, looking up.  “More than work, more than anything else.”

“I know,” Bucky replies.  “But don’t get comfortable, because I am mad about the lying thing even though you had good reason.  I’m gonna be a bit passive aggressive for the next few months, but I still love you.  And you’re going to make it up to me every day once we get home.”

“Of course,” Steve agrees, deathly earnest.  “Although, uh, we can’t exactly go home for a while, and I probably lost my job.”

“You maybe should have brought that up sooner.”

Steve looks sheepish, but he smiles for the first time since Bucky woke up, and it still makes his heart skip a beat.  

*

“You’re in a lot of trouble,” Natasha announces, pushing off the hallway wall when Steve stepped out of the room.  “A lot of higher ups were pissed, but Coulson’s fighting for you, and so am I.  At the very least you’re facing a suspension.”

“Thank you,” he says, hoping it conveys everything he owes her.  She nods, grins like she knows how much she can hold over his head now.  

“Also I just overheard your entire discussion with James, and I’m not sure whether I should congratulate you or offer you both a pint of ice cream,” she continues.

Steve sighs. “I… I want to do right by him.  For one time. And he won't let me.”

“Steve, I think you just want to do the easy thing for him. You want to leave and let him find someone better, when you can stay and be better. But you have to work for it.”

“I want to. I want to be who he deserves. I just-”

“Steve. It's been two years. You need to decide what you want more.”

“I’ve only ever wanted to be useful. To help people, make a difference. And I know what I want to do. But how can I when it’s so selfish?”

“Maybe you deserve a little selfish once in awhile. Maybe you need to find a different way to help people. But Steve, you have been selfish. You may have been helping people but you were hurting your husband. So maybe you should be a little selfless for him.”

“I'll miss working with you,” Steve offers. Natasha smiles.

“And I’m gonna love stealing your desk chair,” she replies, pulling him into a hug.

*

Becca is mad.  That’s a bit understandable.  

“Would you like to explain why your husband scared the living crap out of me last night?” she demands.  “It’s been 10 hours.  No one knows where you went.  I called you 12 times.  Steve said not to worry, fat fucking chance.  What happened?”

“I’m fine,” Bucky assured her, holding the phone slightly away from her ear.  

“Oh, are you? A call would’ve been nice.”

“I didn’t have my phone. I’m sorry. I got really drunk, but I’m fine,” he says.

“So you didn’t have your phone and you decided to go to that sketchy bar by your house than come to my apartment?  Bucky, do you have a brain up there at all?”

“I know, okay? I was upset and didn’t want to get into another argument with you.”

“Bucky, you idiot.  It was never about being right.  I didn’t want to see you get hurt again.  That includes disappearing for a whole night.”

“I know, and I'm sorry. I was being stupid, and upset. I love you.”

“Love you too, big bro. I’d love you more if you took your head out of your ass every once in awhile.”

Bucky snorts. “I'll try.”

“You know, I wasn't the only one panicking last night,” she continues. “How's Steven doing?”

“He was really upset. We talked it out though,” Bucky explains. “We finally talked everything out, all those things we ignored. I think we're gonna be okay, actually. We're being honest with each other.  He apologized for a lot. We're really crap at communication.”

“No shit. So I don't have to come over and punch him in the face?”

“No, I don't think so.  In fact, I think he'll probably beat you to it.”

“Good. Am I still coming over tonight?”

“Uh…”

“Oh God, I do not want to know.”

“No! I mean… That is not what I meant.”

“I don't want to know!”

There's a knock on the door.

“Becca, can I call you back?” He pleads, desperately trying to not turn red.

“Do not call me back for like an hour. And this never happened.”

“Deal.”

“Love you, please never tell me about your sex life.”

“Bye.”

He practically flings his phone across the room.

“That looked interesting.” It's Natasha. Her hair is longer, straighter than the last time he saw her. Or well, the last time he remembered seeing her.

“Nope,” Bucky says. “We're not talking about that.”

She frowns, and slides into the hospital bed next to him.

“Steve's getting us ice cream,” she announces.

“That sounds wonderful.”

“How're you feeling?” Natasha asks, smiling gently, but looking at him seriously.

“Sore, like I got used as a punching bag, but very comfortable right now and looking forward to ice cream.”

“I meant emotionally.”

“Kinda drained, kinda relieved about a lot. A little angry about the whole lying to my face thing, but I'll get over it.”

Natasha seems pleased, patting his arm.

“Hey, you know that time I said you looked like you could definitely kill a man with your pinkie, I wasn't wrong, was I?” He replies, nudging her side.

“I probably need a little more than a pinkie but yeah,” she confesses, smirking.

“Okay, so I called one thing right,” he teases.

“I only ever heard Steve's side of the story,” she sighs. “I thought you guys were struggling to talk, just avoiding each other. Steve told me about last night though, how you felt throughout all this, and I just want to let you know I would have forced him to pull his head out of his ass a lot sooner if I knew. Probably would've beaten the crap out of him for it. I mean, I should have anyway, but I, and Steve too, didn't really think about how you were seeing things and that was stupid.”

“I don't blame you,” he assures her. “Hell, I don't even blame him for all of it. Honestly we suck at confrontation so much it's like we deserve each other.”

“That is true,” she replies, chuckling. “But he's gonna be better this time.  He's leaving Shield.  You two are going underground for a few weeks, enjoy a lovely little vacation. And if he starts slacking off again, you're gonna call me.  I've been rooting for you two. Try not to be stupid again.”

He nods, glancing over at her. “Thanks, Natasha.”

“It's my genuine pleasure. Now do you want to stay at our safe house in Puerto Rico, come full circle and all that?”

He grins. “Sounds fun, but are there any pet friendly safe houses?”

Natasha leans her head back and laughs.

*

Steve drives them to the airport three days later, because Bucky's eye is still a little swollen.  They hold hands over the main console, and Bucky narrates some passages from the pile of vacation brochures Natasha gave him.

“Oh, I didn't go snorkeling last time,” Bucky announces.  “We can try that.”

“You know what I've always wanted to do? Parasailing.  Do they have parasailing?” Steve asks.

“I'm sure they do… Somewhere in these,” Bucky assures him. “Hmm, how about couple’s massages?”

Steve laughs. “How uncomfortable do you think that'll be?”

“Oh come on, it'll be relaxing,” Bucky protests.

“Or super unpleasant,” Steve shoots back.

“Stop being a spoilsport. This vacation is about trying new things. Come on, you owe me a honeymoon.”

“Alright, couple’s massage. Why not?” Steve sighs.

Bucky grins at him, leans his head on his shoulder. “Exactly. Why not?”