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It's been a while since Steve has been home.
Staying tied down to one place isn't really suited towards the lifestyle and getting attached at a sentimental face value is too much of a risk for safety.
His home was Brooklyn, the Army and a thousand feet under the ice. It was training and no mercy and everything ugly before he woke up in a new century.
He spent his youth training to be hard and better than the constant asthma and illnesses and then he met Bucky. He was his best friend, the love of his life and like a goddamn soulmate. He was there to pick him up after getting into fights and flying too close to the sun. Bucky was there to be his anchor and keep him floating in the world that was meant to ruin Steve Rogers.
When he lost Bucky to death on the train, he lost his everything. It was worse than thinking that he'd be killed in action, worse than being alone without his Ma and so much more agonizing than the loneliness he thought was used to.
Bucky would hold him close and kiss him goodnight, run him a bath and make fun of how he'd never learn his lesson for being a punk. He'd wrestle with him without breaking anything in Steve's fragile body and crash into his mouth in their apartment, blind to the eyes and hatred of the 1940s, grabbing his hair and bucking against his hips. They'd make love and and stare into each other's eyes like it was the last time they'd ever seen each other. James’, icy blue like the icicles Steve can't reach freezing overtop their outside door and sparkling with childlike playfulness and giddy mischief. Steve's, a deeper navy that changes into an almost brown color, devotion and loyalty with the undercurrent of insecurity at his frail for.
And then Washington.
There was no recognition or remembrance in his eyes and it fucking stung when Zemo tried to take back Bucky. Steve truly was cursed by fate or whatever gods, laos or deities hated him. Why did he ever think a monster could love? The same hands that had fed him chicken soup in a shabby apartment in winter without any heating and healed his bleeding wounds with steady hands and a scalpel, the same mouth that had kissed him like they were both dying and the same arms that held him up when he was breaking, all of them a physical juxtaposition of his deathmarked and ill-fated love.
Every mission after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. , every chance to save a life and every happy couple cradling their lover like they were the moon holding the sun in their hands had burned down his throat like bleach. He wanted it so badly but it was so far from his grasp. James was long dead to the world and the only person left was the Winter Soldier.
He was merciless and a stranger in this new world and he was terrified of him, the Winter Soldier, the way he’d hit into him without pulling back and bring him to the edge of death, nearly but not quite almost begging for him to kill his once best friend. When all was said and done and Steve Rogers crumpled face first into the water without trying to kill James Buchanan Barnes, there was Bucky, pulling him back out like it used to be.
He had broken his spirit and body as the person he wasn’t.
When Steve tracked him down in Romania, everything changed. He was scared that the Bucky he had fallen in love with was long gone and all familiarity of the world he knew was a distant smudge in history. That was before he stared into Buck's eyes.
The light in his eyes wasn’t the same. There wasn’t the black dilated pupils and the undercurrent of murderous intent. There was something sad, almost as broken as Steve felt without him, and furious, but not at him.
Despite his fear and feeble attempts to stay out of Buck's business, he hadn't. He had just lost Peggy and fought for him against his team, despite it maybe not being his best decision.
Bucky was never as trapped as he was, always healthy, happy and able to go anywhere in the world to fight some Nazis, and they both were always meant to be rookie in this greater game of fucked up chess. And yet, Bucky was always right by his side. It’s in Brooklyn where he found the only person that understood and, he fell in love. And then the inevitable happened and Steve watched his best friend die and it haunted him for years. The next time he would see him outside of his dreams and nightmares would be after the attempt on Fury's life, watching the love of his life die all over again.
If Natasha thought he was a mess when he realized it was Bucky trying to kill him, he doesn’t want to know what she’d say to his inner turmoil.
So, maybe they were star crossed lovers. Maybe their love was were where civil blood made civil hands unclean. But they made it out and alive. And they are here, together, now and that’s all that really matter to him.
They've come back from a mission gone relatively bad. S.H.I.E.L.D. had some nets to cast over a town in eastern Latvia and the two of them were available. It’s been a rough start to the new year and, though Steve knows resolutions are just-pretend, he never feels like he can have the same clean-slate mentality as everyone else. It aches in
his
chest, some days, how he knows that despite his work in the Avengers and killing Ultron, Thanos or being under S.H.I.E.L.D., he’ll never live down how lost he feels in the new era or how he perhaps is just a man built from a lab. The faces of the people that could have been better as Captain America and Erskine. He sees the images of how hell always be lost and nothing of enough of what Bucky deserves in the late hours of the night. He’ll bite down on his knuckle as to not scream when he sleeps alone, in fear of warning him mark or teammates, or claw at his arms and leave angry marks as to distract himself. Perhaps, he knows pain is the best way to punish the monster he truly is.
He knows he's not perfect. He tries but he's only just human.
He’ll walk the Compound floors when it’s so unbearable that he wants to run away from the world and never look back. As if he could start over, as if it’s that fucking easy. He'll head to the gym and train for hours until he slumps into an exhausted heap or walk the streets of Brooklyn at 3 A.M.
He knows he could have just said no to the mission but Buck would have just given him that look; the one where he’s concerned behind the cold exterior and where the way his mouth settles into a grim line with the lingering promise of cornering him later in between the bed-sheets and forcing him to be emotionally vulnerable like before the serum.
After he’s loved him for so long and had nothing but despair and an empty bed when he comes home to S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers; years of loathing and self-worth when he catches a glimpse of Clint’s family; to be confronted with someone willing to give him his entire life all over again? It’s all a bit much.
Yeah, he’ll pass if it means he won’t have emotions..
He tries to sleep in the same bed most nights with Bucky like when they were kids. He doesn't know why he kicks himself out after sex or in the early hours of the night, aside from the fact that he’s a broken shell of a person. He knows he could never have a normal love life despite Buck's reassurances; he feels it in his gut (not his soul because he probably doesn't have one anymore) the loneliness that slowly kills him in the haunting nightmares and flashbacks of the time before Bucky came back or the ice.
It was a standard drug bust; cash-only transactions
no paper trails, guns and stupid looking slouch hats. They've managed to take out the mob boss head and his main men who manage most of the operation. It’s draining and long; as far as hunting each and every supplier and errand-boy down, he can assess the real threats from the teenage boys just looking to make some extra money or being trapped in by a gang. It wasn't easy work and he was a little too close to getting shot to call it a perfect mission, but what's done is done. It's enough to stop the major influx and supply of A-list drugs like cocaine, heroin and LSD from slipping under the radar into England, France and Germany for a while.
The only people dead are the ones who have been costing civilian lives and running their own little circus circuits. He could be upset about how he almost blew his cover or jealous at his boyfriend’s never wavering composure when their entire mission goes to hell. Barnes's ability to switch accents and dialects is still superior, though he'll never admit it out loud to feed more of his ego.The adrenaline rush is over and he’s out of his disguise. The glasses and outfit were abandoned somewhere on the QuinJet.
They’re in an abandoned mine-town in northern Arizona in an underground base disguised as a train station. They're both in a standard S.H.I.E.L.D. apartment, floors above the training gyms and office desks planning the next HYDRA take down. He knows the room could be bugged despite an ex-assassin and soldier's skills and sharp eyes, but right here, right now, there's shelter and the promise of enough food in the fridge for a warm meal. The bed they’re meant to share in covered in plain grey-blue sheets that looks like something out of Goldilocks. There are brandless, average-looking clothing packed in the hidden dark grey cabinets and a supply of bland eggs, bread, fruit and vegetables in the stainless steel refrigerator to keep two super soldiers well fed for at least a week. The kitchen is eerily untouched, the set of all black utensils and appliances, a blender, microwave and stove-top oven, looking like the entire set-up staged. Knowing Fury, everything probably is.
The fireplace is just starting to be lit up with the crackle of orange-red light, cushioned with kindling and logs as a metal arm pokes them with an iron. The room is freezing and the thermostat is long forgotten. He’s just showered and he can see the tips of his blond locks
that are sopping wet onto the hardwood floors in his peripheral vision. He’s in a a pair of sweatpants and one of Bucky’s old shirts from his time in Romania.
He feels warm.
It's unusual. Being smiley and optimistic isn't catered towards his lifestyle or priorities. Also, maybe coming back down from the adrenaline high of a mission gone sour shouldn't fuel this light and calmness to his composure.
But it does anyway.
His hair is still wet from just washing it and he's already making his way from the clothing cabinet and bed to the couch adjacent to the fireplace. Barnes is in a tight-fitting tank top and dark navy jeans.
As Steve sits down on the sofa that’s hard underneath her, he sinks his entire weight to the side and eyes the television above James.
There’s an infomercial station on display and a man with wrinkles under his eyes advertising a contraption that cuts into hard-boiled eggs.
There’s something domestic about spending the night in an impersonal bed and next to the only person he’s ever truly loved. He can’t explain it. He knows this is his normal, one day, living like the couple they always wanted to be, and the next, pretending they’ve never met and saving lives.
The stakes are still high and the tide is coming in; their relationship could be blown to kingdom come by the end of the night, him kicking himself out for the umpteenth time or perhaps running off after another explosive fight fueled by his insecurities.
But all he wants to do is lay next to him
James is standing in front of him, staring at something on his face when Steve returns from his head to reality and his eyes are blinking with a slight twitch on his left eyelid. A bead of sweat dips from his eyebrows so the sides of his face and into his beard. His black-brown hair is tied in a bun and disheveled while still looking orderly.
Steve blinks, ignoring Bucky’s obvious discomfort, while noticing the efforts he’s gone to. In front of him on the nearby wooden table is two cups of a shitty blend of chamomile tea and what looks like his attempt at lactose-free pizza, his favourite meal for when he’s tired.
It’s not the worst date they’ve had in the hundred years they’ve known each other but Steve can tell Buck feels unsure, like he’s skating on thin ice and waiting for his relationship crack like a sinkhole beneath his feet.
He’s still broken and battered, catching up to the normal life he deserves of the twenty-first century and desperately trying to keep Steve close while he tries to run and hide.
He’s never loved him more.
“What?” Steve blurts out, because he's trying to enjoy not presently dying at the hands of aliens or Nazis and he’s kind of ruining it. He’s also very much aware that he’ll always break before his boyfriend, most likely from his time of being.a super secret assassin.
“Does it bother you? The scars?” Bucky's mouth is turned sideways and his pupils are wide and cold.
Steve reels back like he’s been slapped and blinks slowly as he tries to understand.
His chest wound from Washington is displayed as the t-shirt is thin and worn. The scars are white and faded but if he fucks it up hard enough with a sprain or break, the pain and flashbacks come back worse than before. He lifts up his t-shirt fully just enough to see the faded bruises from Tony in Siberia. It’s old and he thought it was behind them.
He lets the shirt relax, stands up straight despite Buck's’ scrutiny and takes in a deep breath, “I'm fine. They don't even bother me anymore.” There’s a warning in his one, a line his lover's crossing that he can’t see.
Bucky rolls his eyes at that and lolls his head back as he uses his good hand to massage his temples, “You run everytime, Rogers, everytime I try to-”
“No.” He cuts him off and the pain in his chest is worse like a vortex of anxiety. “Not that name. That’s not my name” It’s not his fault but the name the Winter Soldier used before he nearly killed him as a target for the first time isn’t what he needs to be reminded of right now.
Anger flashes in his eyes and his nostrils flare out a bit. “This!’ This is exactly what I mean! I’ll always hurt you, no matter what.” Steve doesn’t jolt when he yells but every ounce of warmth he felt earlier is now out the window.
“What do you want from me, Buck?” He sounds as desperate as he feels and can hear the kettle boiling in the back of his mind. He can’t lose him again for the millionth time but he knows he can’t keep pushing him away like this.
“I’ve tried to kill you, darling. The scars are always going to remind you what a bastard I am,” He says calmly but there’s nothing okay about this situation. It’s like he’s trying to say goodbye when they've just got their shit together. He lifts his metal arm up suddenly towards Steve's ghostly pale face, just inches away, and he flinches before he can stop himself. Bucky notices and clenches his eyes shut as he bites the inside of his cheek.“You’re never going to trust me. I don’t blame you but I thought we agreed to try and do this properly.” His boyfriend's shoulders are hunched and he’s upset him. This was not what he wanted for tonight at all.
“Don’t,” He stops him by standing up from the couch and grabbing his lover's chin. He’s fucked up and he feels out of his element. “just don’t. I trust you. End of story.” Of all things, James has to know that. Captain America didn't sacrifice his team and criminal status to lose someone he thought may be a stranger again.
“You say you’re a monster but then what am I?” Buck is seething now and gritting his teeth. “I’ve killed thousands and you think I care about the bad person you believe you are. I don’t give a fuck, I... I love you but you keep running from every good thing you deserve. I can't watch you destroy yourself! I can’t be here and watch everything I love ripped away from m-”
Before he can blink, Steve’s lips are pressed against his. He can feel his anger as he grabs his waist and tries to pull him off with his good hand, but he’s persistent, dammit. He grabs his metal hand and forces it to be in his wet hair.
That’s when the dams break and the flood comes in. He can feel the switch, one moment pulling and holding back and the next, crashing his mouth into Bucky's, tongues swirling and him backing themselves into the couch. He’s all he can think of and he’s so damn addictive, the way he demands his mouth and body, thinking he’ll reel back. Steve doesn’t and presses into his lips with everything he’s been keeping to himself. His legs are hooked around Bucky's
waist and the two of them are grabbing each other like it’s the 40s again. He’s on his lap and he’s sitting up straight and diving into his mouth with every emotion they buried away during their time apart. There’s anger and grief and pain and fear.
But more than anything, there’s love. It’s in the way he brushes the wet hair out of Rogers’ face as he bites down on his lip and in the way his twinkling eyes watch him as he pulls them, chest to chest,
to stare at each other as they break for air.
Weird. Love isn’t something he thought he’d ever have again.
“I’m sorry,” He says out of breath and pressing his nose into his metal shoulder as he combs the silver fingers through his hair. “I love you, I’m just shit as showing it. I’m here, I promise and I’m not going anywhere.”
It’s not an apology for shit and it doesn’t solve everything they still have to work through but it’s enough for right now.
Enough for Steve to trust Bucky to love him despite how hideous he is on the inside.
As they sit on the sofa staring at the fire and television infomercials that night, drinking tea and eating crappy pizza, curled up like there are no troubles in the world, Steve props his own feet on Bucky's lap and stares at his striking face.
After a beat, he stares back with a mischievous light in his eyes, almost a yellow spark and swirl of green in his iris, and devotion in his toothy smile. It’s then and there, in the middle of the-fuck-nowhere, Arizona at a lonely feeling S.H.I.E.L.D base, that Steve Rogers realizes something.
Huh. He could just slip into the busy, crowded streets of Manhattan and disappear. He’d have a truckload of emotional baggage to deal with but he could do it alone if he tried hard enough. He could leave to Palau or Argentina and be someone who doesn’t have to fight. Maybe he’d be a teacher or a chef or someone, anyone, except the man staring back in the mirror.
But he knows, in the glint of all the insecurity in the reflection, someone lingers in the back of his bathroom in the shadows, patiently waiting for him to accept himself.
James will hold him like he’s something precious or rare, as if he’s not a fucking killer, and force him to break down in tears when he bottles it up for too long. But he’ll be there through everything and Steve knows that. If he asked Buck to run away to France, he’d do it without hesitating and buy a small cottage and probably learn to make pizza properly. If he wanted to leave this life and settle for something like an old married couple of fishermen, Bucky would be dragging the boat out to sea before Steve could blink. He’d cross the ocean for him and scour the world for anything if he just asked.
He could be anyone before Bucky came back into Steve's life.
But now, he realizes, he can be someone with him. It’s him and the love of his life against the world, come high or hell water.
Wherever Bucky is, that’s his home, as cozy and welcoming as anyone else’s.
He presses his nose against his and smiles as he curls into Buck's body for the nigh, heavy with a newfound feeling of warmth.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Reposting because I fucked up