Archive of Our Own ^beta

He hasn't had a good night's sleep in over seventy years. Can hardly even remember what that feels like, except for weak impressions that fade as quickly as the crescent-shaped marks from his fingernails digging into the palm of his clenched fist.

And yeah, he's spent much of the past seventy years unconscious but that wasn't sleep, not really. There's nothing restful about what Hydra did to him, the horror of being put on ice followed by the blank emptiness of cryostasis. He wasn't a man to them; he was just a weapon, hung back up on a rack until they had need of him.

Over the course of the past few months he's taken to thinking of himself as Bucky, trying it on for size. It doesn't quite fit right, but it feels less wrong than James or Barnes. It's the name Steve Rogers calls him by, so he supposes it's as good a name as any. He can't be the person Steve wants him to be, but he doesn't have anyone else to be either.

Steve has been looking for him. He and Sam Wilson spent six months traveling the world, taking out a slew of remaining Hydra bases and looking for Bucky. Bucky kept track of them in the midst of settling his own scores with Hydra. He even helped them from afar a few times and was struck by just how utterly familiar it was when he used his sniper rifle to take out Hydra agents who tried to sneak up on Steve.

But he never let Steve actually find him. He wasn't ready, not yet.

Instead, Bucky's been searching for answers on his own, traveling around with stolen money, staying in cheap motels or squatting in abandoned homes and warehouses while he struggles to restructure the fragmented pieces of himself into something that makes sense.

The problem is that he's been running himself ragged in the process. Whatever Hydra did to him, there is still a part of him that's human and breakable. He can't go on like this forever and even though he probably doesn't deserve to live, he also has no desire to die.

Bucky grows more and more exhausted every day. He's drained and sleep deprived, barely able to sleep for more than two hours at a time because he's constantly on guard. His whole body is tense with a hyper-vigilance that makes impossible to relax. Most of the time, his brief interludes of sleep are interrupted by nightmares anyway. When he lies down and closes his eyes, he feels like he's sleeping with the ghost of every person he has wronged. He can see their screaming faces and hear their pleas for mercy ringing in his ears, a wretched chorus so loud he can barely even hear himself think.

On the rare occasions when he does manage to sleep decently, he wakes up with half-formed memories of warmth and a sense of safety, of soft skin and blond hair glinting in the early morning light.

***

After a particularly rough night, he finally buckles down and goes to New York. He knows where Steve is, always knows. His awareness of Steve is ever present, like the phantom pain of his missing arm.

It's been two months since Steve returned from his search for Bucky and he's got a place in Brooklyn now, top floor of a brownstone not far from their old neighborhood. Bucky's cased the building before, knows all the entrances and exits, the embarrassingly shoddy security measures. He remembers enough about Steve to know that he never had much of a sense of self-preservation. It seems like nothing's changed on that front.

But still, taking on bullies twice his size is a far cry from making it easy for a master assassin to break into his apartment. Sometimes he remembers the way Steve stopped fighting him when the helicarrier was going down and thinks that Steve must have a death wish.

Quickly and quietly, Bucky sneaks in through Steve's bedroom window. Steve is lying in his bed, but he's not asleep. He stares up at Bucky, his body tensed and coiled as he waits for Bucky to make a move.

Bucky doesn't know what to say so he settles for shutting the window behind him, both to block out the cold winter air and to placate the little voice inside him that says to take care of Steve and make sure he doesn't get sick this winter.

After they pass several minutes in tense silence, Steve sits up and turns on his bedside lamp. Bucky doesn't move. He just stands there and lets Steve look at the state of him: bloodshot eyes with bags underneath them from lack of sleep, disheveled hair, nondescript hoodie, jeans, and boots, and the glove that hides his metal hand. He needs Steve to look at him, because sometimes Bucky feels so detached from himself that he forgets he's real.

"Oh Bucky," Steve says, his voice cracking slightly on the words. So many emotions flit across Steve's face that Bucky can't even begin to catalog them all. The only feeling the Winter Soldier cared about inciting was fear and he's seen enough terrified faces to know that whatever emotions Steve Rogers is experiencing, fear isn't one of them.

"You stopped looking for me."

"No, Bucky. You just weren't ready to be found."

Bucky looks away. "Yeah. Guess not."

"And now?"

Bucky doesn't speak for a moment. He doesn't know if there's even anything within him left to find.

Finally, he shrugs and says, "Was ready to find you."

Steve smiles and smooths a hand back through his messy hair, which only makes it stick up more. "Well, you found me. Now what?"

Bucky opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. Steve lets a few more moments go by, but he breaks the silence when he realizes Bucky isn't going to say anything.

"You look exhausted, Buck. When was the last time you really slept?" Steve asks. Bucky pauses and lets himself really think about it.

"1943."

Steve flinches, like someone has punched him in the stomach and he's still reeling from the blow. He takes a moment to collect himself and when he looks up at Bucky again, his eyes are clear with calm resolve.

"Then you should probably get some shut eye, right?" Steve says as he pulls back the covers on the other side of the bed and pats the empty space. He sounds so normal, like this kind of thing happens to him all the time.

The Winter Soldier was the epitome of menacing grace, but Bucky's steps are halting and awkward as he approaches the bed. He sits down for a moment, letting himself get used to the feel of the mattress beneath him before he finally lays down on his back. He still feels awkward and the bed is too soft, but he already feels more at ease than he has since breaking from Hydra.

Bucky rolls over and Steve lays down on his side to face him. Their eyes meet in the small space between them and Bucky realizes that this is the first time he's seen Steve up close since pulling him out of the Potomac. He's seen lots of pictures of Steve over the past several months and he assumes he must have seen pictures of him before, when Hydra showed him who his target was. But there's... there's just something different about seeing Steve face to face.

It isn't his body. Bucky has memories of Steve before the serum sometimes and even though Steve was smaller then, he was still the same. It's something else that Bucky can't quite name, the ineffable quality that made Steve worthy of the serum in the first place.

Steve lifts one of his hands up and starts to reach out for Bucky. His movement is slow and deliberate so that Bucky can see him and has enough time to pull away if he wants to.

Bucky stays where he is.

There's the tiniest tremor in Steve's fingers when he finally lays his hand on Bucky's good shoulder. Bucky tenses up for a moment before he lets out a shaky breath and relaxes. Steve gently squeezes his shoulder but he doesn't try to do anything else, just leaves his hand there. The longer they stay like that, the more relaxed Bucky feels. His fears and worries are still there, but they fade into the background as long as he focuses on the feeling of Steve's hand, a solid point of warmth that anchors him to the present moment.

"I always slept better when you were around," Steve says softly. "I think you did too."

Something within Bucky knows that Steve is right, because the only place in the entire world where he feels any semblance of safety is right here, in Steve Rogers's bed at 1am.

Even still, there's a sense of unease deep in the pit of his stomach that he can't quite shake. He's afraid of what will happen when Steve stares into his eyes and sees all the ways Bucky is no longer the person he cared about. Bucky remembers enough to know that they didn't always get along, that they had their spats and arguments just like anyone else. But most of all he remembers that while he could deal with Steve's anger and frustration just fine, there was no worse feeling in the world than Steve being disappointed in him.

This is why he has stayed away. For months, just the thought of Steve made him feel so raw that he'd almost prefer the chair. Being the Winter Soldier was straightforward. He had orders and missions to carry out and that was it. But being a person... he doesn't know how to do this. He doesn't know if he's capable of learning but for some reason, Steve seems to believe that it's possible.

"Why?"

Why didn't you fight me? Why do you care? Why are you letting a killer into your bed?

"Because you're my friend."

The way he says it makes Bucky think there's more to the story than that. He has wondered sometimes if they were lovers before. The exhibit at the Smithsonian didn't say, but Bucky figures that Captain America and his best friend being queer for each other is exactly the kind of thing that would be left out.

In the end, it doesn't matter what form Steve's love takes. He loves a dead man, a phantom. He would be better off moving on.

Stubborn punk. Never did know what was good for him.

Bucky is taking that man's place now, pretending to fill a hole he can never fill. He has no right to be here, to take Steve's kindness and steal something that doesn't belong to him.

It's strange to feel selfish. At least that means he has a self now, even if that self is not a good person. He briefly wonders if he's even capable of being a good person, or if Hydra cut everything worthwhile out of him completely. He doesn't dwell on it now, just lets his eyelids slide shut with exhaustion and forgets about everything except the warm weight of Steve's hand on his good shoulder.

***

He manages to stay away for a week before he can no longer resist the lure of a decent night's sleep and a chance to be close to Steve. He's constantly aware of the fact that he's not worthy of Steve, that he doesn't deserve someone like Steve in his life.

But when Steve tentatively reaches out to stroke Bucky's hair and says, "I'm glad you came back," Bucky leans into the touch all the same.

***

"You really should take your shoes off, Buck," Steve says on the fourth night Bucky slips into his bed. "It can't be comfortable, plus I'm spending way too much time cleaning the dirt out of my sheets. I oughta get you working on laundry detail, huh?"

The joke falls flat, but Bucky sits down on the bed and follows Steve's suggestion, bending down to untie the laces of his boots.

Comfort. It's such an odd concept.

But that is why he's started coming here in the first place, isn't it? The human part of him instinctively sought it out. Hydra hasn't taken everything from him after all; there's something more inside him than the instinct to kill.

Bucky puts his shoes under the bed, carefully making sure they don't stick out. He pauses for a long moment, struggles to make sense of a new memory that's washing over him.

"You used to get mad at me. For leaving my shoes around."

Steve laughs. "Yeah, because I would trip over them."

"I... I'm sorry."

"It's okay, I know you didn't mean to. You were always so worried about me getting hurt as it was," Steve says. "When you left them lying around, it was usually because you were tired. You worked a lot of extra hours sometimes to help pay for my medicine when I was sick."

"I worked at the docks," Bucky says, though he doesn't really remember it. It's a simple fact, one of many that he's picked up from reading about himself online. What he does remember is Steve wrinkling his nose and telling him to shower when he got home from work, and the way Bucky would tease Steve about his delicate sensibilities.

"Yeah, and you worked at a garage sometimes too. You were always good at fixing things."

Bucky shrugs. That was a lifetime ago, and it's been a long time since these hands have been used for anything more than killing.

Steve grins and shakes his head. "You were such a pain in the ass when you were tired though. Used to sprawl out all over the bed and you'd complain when I had to shuffle you around so that I could get into bed with you and then..." Steve stops and his smile fades. There's a faraway look in his eyes and unspoken words on the tip of his tongue, but Bucky doesn't ask and Steve doesn't volunteer.

When Bucky falls asleep, he dreams about the two of them sharing a bed during the winter, huddling together for warmth in their tiny apartment. And then later sharing a bed just because they wanted to, even in the summer time when they were miserably hot, skin flushed and sweaty where they touched.

He dreams about the war, about always being careful because not everyone was willing to look the other way. He has vague impressions of stolen kisses in the dark, of staring at Steve's sleeping form and yearning to touch him. He remembers having nightmares about what Zola did to him, and their only saving grace: when he woke up in a panic, he had an excuse for Steve to lay comforting hands on him and no one could question it.

***

Bucky spends his days exploring this new world. He mostly wanders around New York, silently walking down the streets of his old neighborhood like the phantom he is. He goes to Coney Island, trying to compare it to his fuzzy memories to see how much things have changed. He remembers when the Parachute Jump was new; now it's the only part of Steeplechase Park that remains, the rest having been transformed into a baseball stadium.

Bucky avoids staring up at Stark Tower because when he does, all he can think about is Howard and the smell of blood and gasoline when the Winter Soldier surveyed the car wreck just to make sure that they were dead.

He knows that he's probably seen some of these places since 1942; the Winter Soldier went wherever Hydra needed him after all. But there are some memories he doesn't want to recover and he does his best to make new ones.

He goes to DC to see the Captain America exhibit again, goes by train as if to prove to himself that he can do it without being struck by the visceral memory of what it was like to fall or seeing Steve's anguished face in his head. It's actually not as hard as he thought and he guesses that's just the fucked up way his brain works. Sometimes the things he thinks will set him off have no effect, and it's the small, seemingly benign things that leave him panicked and shaking.

The train hadn't been a problem, but the smell of a woman's lavender perfume as she passed him on the street was like a punch in the gut and flooded Bucky with memories of a French dignitary he'd killed nearly twenty years ago. He'd chased the man through the lavender fields of his estate before shooting him in the head. Ever since he recovered that memory, the jarring contrast of pooling red blood and delicate purple flowers has been seared into Bucky's mind.

Bucky sometimes buys train tickets to other places too, just because he can. He's seen Philly and Boston, Albany and New Haven. But no matter where he goes, he comes back to New York and crawls into Steve's bed almost every night.

As the nights pass, Bucky finds himself allowing more and more physical contact between them. Once he gets used to the solid weight of Steve's hand on his shoulder, Bucky also finds comfort in the brush of Steve's fingertips against the stubble on his cheeks and the feeling of their fingers laced together. One night, they sit up in bed for awhile and Steve pulls out a small comb and gently sets about detangling Bucky's hair. Steve's touch helps to ground him, makes him feel like a person again. The fact that Steve is so deliberate about it only makes it better. He's patient and always careful not to push too far too soon.

Every night they get a little bit closer until Bucky finally lets himself be enfolded in Steve's arms and rests his head on Steve's chest. Steve is always so warm, so much so that Bucky doesn't even mind the way he hogs the covers in his sleep sometimes.

"You used to be smaller. I used to do this for you when you were sick."

"You did. And now it's my turn."

"I'm not sick. Just broken," Bucky spits out, his voice rough like gravel.

"You're recovering."

"I ain't done shit," he mutters. It's still odd to him the way his old Brooklyn accent comes out sometimes when he gets agitated.

"You have though, Buck," Steve says as he wraps his arms around him a little tighter. "You're remembering more and more. You're coming here at night, you're talking to me right now. I know it might not seem like much, but it is. And it... it means a lot to me," Steve says in a quiet voice that's tight with unspoken emotion.

Bucky didn't even know he had a heart anymore, but it breaks for Steve Rogers in that moment. Steve loves so deeply that every moment they share is precious to him and he reveres these broken conversations in the dark like they're miracles. It's a love that Bucky has no right to claim. Even if he lives another hundred years, he'll never be able to atone for all the blood on his hands.

"You we're tortured and brainwashed. It wasn't your fault," Steve says, and Bucky realizes he might have said some of that out loud.

"It doesn't matter."

"It does," Steve says in a tone that brooks no argument. "And that's another thing right there: feeling remorse. The Winter Soldier didn't have that. That's all you, Bucky," he says. Steve rests his hand over Bucky's heart, as if he can will some of his conviction to take root there.

***

Bucky arrives one night to find an empty bed. After a moment of panic that something horrible has happened to Steve, Bucky notices a note on the bed. He flicks on a bedside lamp and sits down to read it, his eyes scanning over the messy scrawl of Steve's handwriting:

Avengers needed me, be back as soon as I can.

These are for you. Try not to be a jerk and stretch them out.

-Steve

Underneath the note is a pair of pajamas, just a simple cotton t-shirt and pants. The memory is fuzzy and it takes a few minutes for it to slot into place, but when it does he lets out a snort of laughter. It's creaky and rusty from disuse, but it's laughter all the same.

Back in Brooklyn, Bucky stumbled home after a night of drinking and dancing, stripped off his clothes, and fumbled around for pajamas from the laundry basket in his stupor. It wasn't until he woke up in the morning that he realized he'd grabbed one of Steve's shirts instead of his own and had somehow managed to fit into the damned thing. He looked completely fucking ridiculous, the hem of the shirt riding up his belly and his arms sticking out of the sleeves like giant sausages.

Steve had tried to look stern and chastise him, but he lasted all of five seconds before bursting into laughter for several minutes while Bucky glared at him. He laughed even harder when Bucky couldn't get the shirt off without Steve's help and they stood there tugging and struggling to get it over Bucky's head.

It had been a joke between them for years afterwards. Bucky can hear the echo of their voices in his head, Steve snickering every time Bucky even touched an article of his clothing and Bucky rolling his eyes and saying, "Oh c'mon Steve, it was just the one time!"

Bucky stares down at the pajamas for a moment, unsure of what to do.

"Fuck it," he says eventually and then strips out of his clothes and puts the pajamas on. They smell like Steve, and the fabric feels pleasantly soft against Bucky's skin. They're slightly loose because Steve is taller than him these days, but he doesn't mind.

Bucky gets into bed and tries not to worry about Steve being injured or hurt in some way. Steve can take care of himself, and he never did like being coddled. Even though SHIELD is gone, the Avengers are still intact. Bucky knows that Steve goes on missions sometimes, although he seems to go less and less these days and is more of a part-timer than anything else.

Maybe Steve's just tired after months of searching for Bucky and trying to stamp out the remains of Hydra. If anyone's earned a rest, god knows it's Steve.

He hears it the moment Steve opens the front door of the apartment and shuffles around in the kitchen for a bit. Bucky listens to the sound of the shower turning on and feels that much more relaxed, knowing that Steve is safe and nearby.

Other than the sound of running water, the apartment is quiet. Steve never liked to sing in the shower, not that he would at this hour anyway. But Bucky - the old Bucky - had loved it. He didn't do it often because he didn't want their neighbors to hate him, but he liked to sing when Steve was around, if only to annoy him and laugh at the way Steve complained about Bucky causing a ruckus. In truth, Bucky actually had a decent singing voice and Steve had always enjoyed listening to him. It was just one of the ways they liked to give each other a hard time.

Another memory comes to him then, the sound of running water and the echoing of his own voice as he sang "How Deep is the Ocean," hamming it up and laughing when Steve yelled at him to shut up.

And Steve... Steve had blushed bright red when Bucky got out of the shower because it didn't matter that Bucky had sung the song as if it was a joke. He knew the song was for him, and that Bucky meant every word.

"You're late," Bucky says when Steve enters the room.

"World's not gonna save itself, right?" Steve says. Bucky tries his best not to stare at Steve's ass as he finishes toweling himself off and putting on his pajamas.

"That's always been your problem, Rogers. Always think you gotta be the one to save it."

Steve laughs as he slips into bed beside Bucky. Bucky drinks in the sound of it and the way Steve's eyes crinkle in the corners. He smells good; fresh and clean and uniquely Steve, even though he uses a different soap than he used to all those years ago.

"Sorry, Buck, but I don't think that's something that's gonna change anytime soon."

"Who said anything about changing? Why would you go and do something stupid like that?" Bucky says, and he's... he's teasing Steve and it feels so natural, so normal. "You're a punk, but you've got some good qualities too. That's the only reason I decided to play nice and not stretch out your pajamas tonight."

Steve's eyes light up and his laugh is both delighted and startled, as if Bucky talking to him like this is the best surprise he could have imagined.

"You remembered."

"Well, you wouldn't let me forget, huh? Seventy fucking years and you're still giving me shit about it."

"Yeah, you just need to face the fact that I'm never gonna let that one go, Buck. You looked so damn ridiculous and I just..." Steve starts to say, but he's laughing too hard to even finish his sentence. Bucky surprises himself when he starts laughing too. He sounds far more natural this time, especially when his laughter is blended with Steve's. It all seems so familiar and Bucky feels like he's relearning a language he'd long since lost fluency in.

When their laughter dies down, Steve stares at him for a long moment with a quiet yearning in his eyes. "I'm glad you're here, Bucky."

You shouldn't be, Bucky thinks as Steve turns out the light, but he doesn't say anything. He just lets Steve pull him close before they both fall asleep.

***

From then on Bucky shows up every night, puts on the pajamas Steve leaves out for him, and slips into bed beside him. He folds the pajamas and puts them away the next day, always leaving in the very early morning before Steve wakes up. He finds that he likes it best when he lets Steve curl around him and spoon him from behind. It's still a novel experience, realizing that he has opinions about things.

The first night they tried spooning was a complete disaster. Bucky had woken up screaming from a nightmare and accidentally threw Steve up against the wall before he realized where he was. Steve told him it was okay, that his bruises would heal easily and that they could try again another time, but Bucky had felt so terrible about it that he stayed away for two nights. He'd spent years hurting people and he felt guilt for those things now, which was hardly surprising. But it had been years since he accidentally hurt someone, and he didn't realize how horrible that could feel too. The fact that it was Steve only made it worse.

"And there's another thing right there: feeling remorse. The Winter Soldier didn't have that. That's all you, Bucky."

The first night was horrible, but the second was... perfect. Steve had pulled him close, so warm and solid against Bucky's back. Bucky could feel Steve's heartbeat and his steady breathing against his neck. He remembered the times he stayed up all night with Steve, terrified that he would stop breathing all together. It felt so fucking good to have Steve next to him, to hear him breathing and know that he was safe.

Steve talks to him sometimes, tells him stories about the war or about living in Brooklyn. Sometimes Bucky doesn't remember anything at all. They're just words, nothing but cold facts like the ones at the Smithsonian. On those nights, Bucky just focuses on the deep sound of Steve's voice vibrating against his back, and tries to ignore the bare hint of sadness in his tone.

But on other nights, Steve's words connect and touch something hidden deep within him. Half-remembered things are suddenly revealed with startling clarity, like tearing down curtains from an old window and seeing that the world is bigger and brighter (and better) than he had imagined.

Tonight they are quiet and Bucky just closes his eyes, lets himself focus on the sound of their breathing and the warmth of Steve behind him. Bucky wishes he could truly quiet his mind, but he can't shake the sense that this is borrowed time and he doesn't really belong here. He isn't who Steve thinks he is, no matter how much he might want to be.

"You don't have to stay here with me, you know. I'm sure you must have better things to do, missions you could go on. The world needs Captain America, right?"

"Sure, sometimes. And when it does I'll be there, but I know where I'm really needed right now," he says with a light squeeze of Bucky's human hand. "The Avengers know they can call on me if things get tough. They're good people and they're becoming good friends too. I think you'd like them."

But the thought of Steve having other friends does not fill Bucky with the urge to get to know them. Instead there's a dark, possessive feeling in the pit of his stomach and he thinks this must be what jealousy feels like.

"What would your friends say, if they knew Captain America was holed up with the Winter Soldier?" It's a mean thing to say and Bucky regrets it immediately. Jealousy is an ugly emotion, and Bucky finds that he doesn't like it all.

Steve sighs. "I'm not... I'm just a man, Bucky. I never wanted to be a symbol, I just wanted to join the fight. I did my part and I was glad to do it. The war effort, the legacy of Captain America... that all continued on long after I crashed into the ocean."

Bucky wonders if that's what this is. If letting Bucky into his life is just Steve crashing into the ocean again: a noble, desperate gesture that he knows will probably get him killed.

Bucky slips out of Steve's arms and rolls over to face him.

"I could have killed you. On the helicarrier."

"Yes, but you didn't. You remembered me."

"Barely," Bucky scoffs.

"It was enough."

"If I hadn't though... you wouldn't have stopped me, would you?"

"No."

"But why?"

Steve sighs. "Bucky... either you were going to remember me or you weren't. If you did, I knew you would stop. And if you didn't..."

Steve doesn't finish his sentence, but he doesn't have to.

He was ready to die. Given the option between fighting Bucky and death, he chose death. He found it preferable to living in a world where Bucky didn't remember him.

It wasn't that Steve didn't care about the greater good or about doing his part to make the world a better place. He'd gone above and beyond just like always, completing his mission to bring down the helicarriers despite being shot and severely wounded. The problem was that when it came down to the wire, Steve fought tooth and nail to save millions of lives but wouldn't lift a finger to save his own.

Just the thought of it makes Bucky's skin feel hot, nostrils flaring as his breath comes out rapid and shallow. He is... angry. It isn't the cold, killing rage of the Winter Soldier. It's something else, something far more familiar that makes him want to tear his hair out in frustration or whack Steve upside the head if only to make him see sense.

"You're a fucking idiot, Rogers. You know that, right? I'm not worth dying over."

"You are worth everything to me," Steve says, and the raw conviction in his voice makes Bucky scowl. Steve has always been like this. He gets an idea stuck in his head and that's just it. He's tenacious and he can't be moved.

Bucky sits up in bed to give himself a better vantage point to fix Steve with his most disapproving glare. "Why do you do this kind of shit, huh? Tryin' to be a tough guy, putting yourself in danger like you gotta prove something to somebody?"

"It was my choice to make. Just like it was yours to stay beside me during the war and follow me onto that train even though you knew how dangerous it would be."

Bucky frowns and looks away, because he can't really argue with that. He can feel the bed shifting as Steve sits up, adjusting his position until he's sitting cross-legged in front of Bucky.

"Bucky," Steve says softly, and Bucky turns to meet his gaze. Steve is staring at him so intently and that same longing is there, as if he wants nothing more than to hold Bucky close and never let him go.

"You really miss him, don't you?"

"I missed you."

"You... you loved him," Bucky says, because he needs to know. He needs to know if those memories are real or if he's just crazy.

"I did. I still do. Always."

"I'm not him."

"You're still you. There's nothing and no one who can ever fully take that away. People change and-"

"Not like this."

"Look, Bucky," Steve says. "I don't know everything about what happened to you, but I'm not going anywhere and I'm never giving up on you. 'Til the end of the line, remember?"

Steve reaches out and takes Bucky's hands in his. Even though Bucky has no sensation in his metal arm beyond the feeling of pressure, he could swear that he can feel the warmth that Steve radiates. Bucky's heart clenches and he can barely breathe because he wants Steve so badly, and wants to believe in everything he's saying.

Bucky stares up at the open expression on Steve's face, and then he does what he's been wanting to do for months: he leans forward and kisses Steve.

Bucky doesn't think it's a very good kiss. It's not as fierce as he wants it to be and he has no finesse whatsoever, but Steve doesn't seem to mind. Steve kisses him back and Bucky's fears about disappointing him momentarily fade away as he loses himself in the slide of their tongues together. When they break for air, Steve stares at him with searching eyes.

"God, Bucky," Steve says and then he reaches out and holds Bucky's face in his hands. Steve kisses Bucky's forehead, his nose, his eyes, his hair, and Bucky sighs and trembles under the simple pleasure of being treated with such tenderness. Steve says Bucky's name in a shaky breath before kissing him on the mouth again.

Bucky makes a broken noise in the back of his throat when he returns the kiss and pushes Steve back on the bed. Steve goes down and pulls Bucky on top of him so their bodies are pressed flush against each other. Steve throws his arms around Bucky as their kisses deepen and Bucky can't resist grinding his hips down against Steve. With every delicious roll of their hips, Bucky can feel Steve's cock getting hard against his through their pajama pants.

Even though Bucky's mind doesn't fully remember all the times he and Steve did this, his body does. He feels flushed with desire, a hunger coiling deep in the pit of his stomach. When he buries his nose into Steve's neck and breathes him in, his scent and the feeling of his body against Bucky's is achingly familiar.

As badly as he wants this, it's hard for him to stay focused because every time he kisses Steve, it feels like he's also reliving kisses from seventy years ago. The veil between then and now is breaking and the memories flood him so fast that he can barely process them. He feels so overloaded that he has to stop, rolls off of Steve and over onto his side as he tries his best to catch his breath.

"Hey hey, stay with me Buck," Steve says as he rolls over and scoots closer to Bucky. "Come on, talk to me Bucky. Don't bottle it in." Steve rests his hand on Bucky's shoulder and Bucky lets the sensation ground him as he breathes in deep and lets the memories come.

"I remember... I remember we used to go out on double dates. Even though I liked dames, I hated it."

"Yeah, me too," Steve says with a wry smile.

"I just wanted you to find somebody special. Didn't want to drag you down with me, Steve."

"Bucky-"

"You were a better catch than I ever was. Could never understand why they didn't see what I saw."

Bucky pauses, struggles to find the right words. He tries not to chase after the memory too hard, tries to relax and just let it come to him.

"We went home after one, even though I thought the girl really might have liked you this time. You were mad at me. And then I asked you why you never really made a go of it with any girl."

Bucky stares at Steve for a long time, taking in the clarity of his blue eyes, the curve of his cheekbones, the sweep of his eyelashes. He traces his fingers across Steve's face and watches the subtle shifts in his expression, from the slight furrow in his brow and the tense set of his jaw, to the hopeful glint in his eyes. Bucky runs his thumb across Steve's bottom lip, and for a moment he feels like he's seeing Steve both as he was and as he is now.

"You kissed me."

"Yeah Bucky, I did. Do you... do you remember what I said to you after?"

Everything slots into place, and Bucky wonders how he could have ever forgotten something so precious.

"I only ever wanted you."

Steve nods and swallows hard. "That hasn't changed, Bucky. Whatever's happened to you, whatever you've been through... you have to know that."

Bucky has changed in more ways than he can count but when he stares into Steve's eyes, none of that seems to matter. He feels like his heart could burst and he wouldn't mind because Steve makes him feel exhilarated and so very, very alive. It's like being in free-fall and yet completely unafraid, like he could go anywhere and endure anything as long as Steve was there beside him.

This must be what love feels like.

Bucky leans forward and kisses Steve again and Steve tangles his fingers in Bucky's hair when he kisses back. Bucky slides his hands up under Steve's shirt, his fingers shaking slightly as they trace over the warm muscles of his abs.

"Steve, I want..." Bucky chokes out in a hoarse voice.

"Yeah, me too," Steve says. He sits up in bed and quickly takes his shirt off and tosses it to the floor.

Steve is beautiful. He looks like a fucking Greek statue, all smooth skin and powerful, chiseled muscles. Bucky thinks there will always be part of him that misses the smaller version of Steve, because that's the one that shows up most often in his recovered memories. But this suits Steve too, this body that finally matches the strength of his spirit.

It's then that Bucky thinks about his own body and remembers what he is. He thinks about the ugly scars where metal meets flesh, the horrible metal arm that's a constant reminder of the way Hydra turned him into a weapon, and the fact that he's still far more weapon than man. He's a stitched up patchwork of a person, Frankenstein's monster made horrifyingly real. Maybe Bucky's body matches his spirit too.

Bucky goes stiff and turns his face away, unable to meet Steve's gaze. He feels Steve inching closer to him, but he still doesn't look up.

"Hey, we don't have to do anything if you don't want to."

The problem is that Bucky really really wants to. He supposes he could just leave his shirt on, but he wants everything of Steve. He wants to feel skin on skin, wants Steve to pull him close and warm him all over because he's been so fucking cold for so long.

Steve leans down and presses a soft kiss to Bucky's lips. "I want you," he says. "All of you. But only what you're willing to give."

"I could hurt you," Bucky says. He's never really let Steve get a good look at the arm or actively touch it for any long period of time and he doesn't know how he'll react. If he ever seriously injured Steve he would never forgive himself.

"You won't."

"You know what I am, Steve."

"Yeah, I know what you are, Bucky," Steve says, and his expression is so earnest that Bucky can tell he's not going to say that Bucky is a monster. He's going to say something sappy, like Bucky's the best friend he's ever had, or the love of his life. There's a part of Bucky that craves hearing those kinds of things, but sometimes it's all just too much. He decides to speak before Steve can get the chance.

"I... okay, fine," Bucky says as he sits up in bed. He takes off his shirt and tosses it down to the floor beside Steve's. When he looks over at Steve, there's no disgust in his eyes. There's only a blend of curiosity and deep sadness, which Bucky thinks might be worse.

Bucky can't deal with Steve looking at him, so he moves forward to kiss him instead. Unfortunately, Steve does the exact same thing and their foreheads bump against each other hard. They both hiss in pain and pull away, rubbing at their foreheads.

"God Barnes, you're just as hardheaded as always," Steve says with a laugh.

"Me? You've always been the hardheaded one," Bucky says and then they're both laughing and smiling at each other. And it's this — even more than Steve's reassuring words from before — that finally puts Bucky at ease. He realizes then that there's no "getting it wrong" here, and that he shouldn't worry so much about disappointing Steve.

Both of them are a bit of a mess in this area when he really thinks about it. Bucky's an ex-assassin who still has no fucking clue how to feel comfortable in his body anymore. And Steve hasn't exactly had much time for romance since they thawed him out, so he's probably out of practice too. He's been awfully busy, what with the fighting aliens and bringing down covert organizations and all.

So Bucky decides that maybe they both need to cut themselves a little slack. He stops worrying about having "perfect sex" because he realizes that there's no such thing. This isn't a test; it's just the two of them here together because this is exactly where they both want to be.

Bucky starts to move toward Steve again but Steve shakes his head and laughs. "No no, you stay there. I'll come to you. Can't risk getting injured by your big head again."

Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes, but he stays where he is. Steve leans forward and kisses him, and it's even better now that Bucky has let go of the pressure he was feeling.

Bucky hesitates for a moment and then he wraps his arms around Steve, both of them. Steve moans and kisses Bucky harder, surges forward until he's straddling Bucky's lap and grinding up against him. They topple backwards on the bed with Steve landing on top. Bucky just kisses him again, holds Steve closer and revels in the feeling of their bare chests pressed together. He's glad he decided to take his shirt off because it's completely worth it.

They roll over a few times and almost fall off of the bed, but Bucky doesn't care because Steve's body feels so incredibly good against his own. It's desperate, graceless, and better than anything Bucky could have imagined. Bucky remembers that their first time was like this, hungry kisses and frantic fumbling in the middle of the night. It was just as good then as it is now.

It's even better when they take off their pants and Bucky gasps in pleasure at the slide of their cocks together. They roll over again until Steve's on top but before Bucky can grip Steve's ass in his hands and bring his hips down, Steve slips out of his grasp and lays down on his side next to Bucky. Bucky starts to protest, but he's easily distracted by the playful quirk of Steve's lips and the obscene the way he licks his palm before wrapping his hand around Bucky's cock.

Bucky can't help but cry out when Steve starts stroking him. He goes slow at first, twisting his wrist slightly on the upstroke in a way that makes Bucky's toes curl in pleasure. Steve's hand is big and warm and his grip is perfect. With more of Bucky's precome to ease the way, Steve picks up his pace. He leans down and kisses Bucky, swallowing up his shaky moans.

"Steve," Bucky chokes out.

"You okay?" Steve asks, brow furrowed in concern.

"I... fuck yeah, don't stop. Please don't stop."

"I got you, Buck. I got you."

Bucky is still stunned by the fact that Steve even wants to touch him in the first place, this body that has been broken apart and stitched back together in the service of violence and death. His body is a war zone, a battlefield where he's constantly fighting with himself. But with Steve's warm hands on him, Bucky feels like he could declare an armistice, if only for tonight.

When he comes, it seems to go on forever and yet he never wants it to stop. Steve strokes him through it mercilessly, milks every drop from him while he swallows Bucky's moans with messy kisses.

Bucky lays there boneless and struggling to catch his breath in the afterglow. He can feel Steve shuffling around on the bed and then wiping the come off of Bucky's stomach with tissues. When Steve lays down beside him again and pulls him close, Bucky can feel Steve's erection digging into his hip. Bucky reaches down to take Steve in hand but Steve stops him.

"Bucky, you don't have to-"

"I want to," Bucky says. It still feels strange to want things, but it gets easier every time. And right now he wants Steve's cock in his mouth.

He gets the sense that he's done it many times before, has brief impressions of Steve's face twisted in pleasure, his desperate moans, and the way he would tremble when he was close.

But Bucky doesn't want fuzzy memories; he wants the real thing.

"I want to suck you," Bucky says, just because he can and he likes the way the words sound when he says them out loud.

"Bucky, fuck."

Bucky slides down the length of Steve's body, and their eyes meet as they stare at each other in silence. Steve is breathless, his pupils blown, and lips red and swollen from kissing. He's beautiful and debauched and it makes Bucky want him all the more.

He gives Steve's cock a few experimental tugs that make him shudder, and then he leans down and closes his mouth over the head. Bucky takes his time with it and from the way Steve is moaning and clenching the sheets, he doesn't seem to mind. There are some things that Bucky remembers about how Steve likes it, like the rapid flick of a tongue against the slit of his cock. Other things he gets to discover all over again, like the broken noise Steve makes when Bucky uses the flat of tongue to slowly lick up the shaft, or the way Steve throws his head back and moans when Bucky finally starts taking him deeper, bobbing his head up and down.

He's always loved this, the weight of Steve's cock on his tongue. He remembers other things too, like the delicious burn of Steve's cock fucking him deep, and how hot and tight Steve was when Bucky returned the favor. He's not ready for that yet but this is good too. Better than good.

He can tell by the tension in Steve's body that he's holding back, which is the last thing Bucky wants. He's still fucked up but he's not as fragile as Steve thinks he is either. He can handle it. More than anything, Bucky wants Steve to stop trying so hard and just let go, wants to see Steve fall apart under his hands.

Bucky grips Steve's thighs in his hands and spreads him open wider. He has a split second moment of panic that Steve will flinch away from Bucky's metal hand this time, but it only makes him shiver and moan as he arches up for more.

Steve can no longer stop himself from thrusting his hips and shoving himself deeper into Bucky's mouth and Bucky relishes it. It's sloppy and saliva runs down Bucky's chin, but he doesn't care. Although Bucky's body remembers this, his mind still trips him up and he almost chokes a couple times when he thinks too hard about what he's doing. Even still, he just keeps bobbing his head in time with Steve's thrusts and taking him as deep as he can.

Steve reaches out to grip Bucky's hair but then he catches himself and leaves his hand hovering in the air.

"God Bucky, can I?"

Bucky nods and Steve rests his hand in Bucky's hair, stroking through it while he thrusts up into Bucky's mouth with increasing desperation.

"Bucky, I-" Steve starts, but Bucky doesn't pull away. He just keeps sucking and swallows everything down when Steve shudders all over and comes hard.

***

One of the best things about Steve being a super soldier and Bucky being whatever the hell he is, is that their refractory time is basically zero. Within minutes, they're all over each other again, Steve pressing kisses into Bucky's neck that make him shiver and arch up into Steve's every touch.

When Steve asks him what he wants to do, Bucky shrugs. "All I got is muscle memory. You're the star-spangled man with a plan, right?"

Steve snickers. "Yeah yeah funny guy," he says, and he looks so fucking happy that Bucky can't resist a little smile of his own before pulling Steve into his arms again.

***

Steve isn't in his bedroom when Bucky arrives a few nights later, but Bucky can hear the sound of his footsteps pacing around the kitchen.

"You guys know if you really need me I'll come," Steve says, and Bucky realizes that he's talking to someone on the phone.

There's a long pause and then Steve replies in a heated voice, "Yeah, maybe I should have. But if this is what he needs then that's what I'll do."

"Yeah, well I refuse to accept that," Steve says after another beat. Bucky rolls his eyes. He doesn't know exactly what the person said, but he knows how stubborn Steve can be.

There's another pause and whatever the person on the other end says seems to diffuse the tension because Steve breaks into laughter. "Believe me, Sam has told me the same thing. Why is it that I'm surrounded by people telling me how stubborn I am? Even Bucky does it too. He always did."

Steve's quiet again, as if he's been asked a question that doesn't have an easy answer. "It's... it's hard. But it's good too. I still can't believe it sometimes, that he's actually alive."

Another few minutes of silence go by and then Steve sighs. "I know, Natasha. I just need more time."

There's more silence on Steve's end until he makes an exasperated noise in the back of his throat. "I know what I'm doing, Natasha," he says, and Bucky recognizes that tone well. It's the same false bravado Steve used to have when Bucky would break up a fight between Steve and some bully.

I had him on the ropes, Buck.

Yeah, sure you did.

It's not exactly a shock to Bucky that Steve has no idea what he's doing. Neither one of them does. It's almost like the blind leading the blind, but Bucky tries not to worry about it.

Bucky doesn't know if it's intuition or just dumb luck, but Steve has always been able to do impossible things. He's lived into his nineties even though Bucky thought it would be a miracle for him to even reach thirty. If anyone else had pulled that stunt jumping into enemy territory to save the 107th, they would have been killed, serum or no. Steve even survived crashing a plane into the Arctic, although it took him a long time to get out of that one. Bucky doesn't have much faith in himself, but his faith in Steve is unshakeable. If anyone can help him, it's Steve.

The conversation turns to another topic, some movie that they both watched. Steve thinks it was terrible but Natasha seems to think otherwise. Bucky tunes them out as he puts on his pajamas and slips into bed.

Bucky's not jealous anymore, not exactly. It's good that Steve has friends who care about him. However, spending his nights with Steve is the only stable thing in Bucky's life right now, the only thing that actually makes him feel human. He's nothing but relieved by the fact that Steve won't let anyone persuade him to change things for the time being. Bucky doesn't want to see anyone else; Steve is the only one he trusts.

Steve comes and slips into bed about fifteen minutes later and if he knows Bucky overheard his conversation, he doesn't say a word about it.

Steve smiles and Bucky leans forward and kisses him. It's a chaste kiss because Bucky doesn't want to do anything more than that tonight, but it still feels good. Even though Bucky still feels like an impostor a lot of the time, he just likes touching Steve and being close to him. Being in Steve's bed is everything that cryo was not. He's warm and safe in their little cocoon. He's not a weapon or a thing, and he's not alone.

Bucky turns around and lets Steve spoon him from behind.

"Were you waiting long?" Steve asks, his breath pleasantly warm against the back of Bucky's neck.

I'd wait another seventy years for you, Bucky doesn't say.

Instead he says, "No, don't worry about it," and falls asleep in Steve's arms mere minutes after Steve turns out the light.

***

Another month goes by and aside from a few times where Steve is away on a mission, they spend every night together. They develop a kind of routine, an unspoken rhythm to their evenings. Sometimes they have sex, but some nights it just feels like too much and all Bucky wants to do is sleep. Bucky still wakes up shaking and screaming sometimes, and Steve's touch brings him back to the present moment. Some nights Bucky has nothing to say, but sometimes the memories just pour out of him and he can feel Steve's quiet joy at his words.

Everything changes one night in April, when it's Steve who wakes up shaking and thrashing from a nightmare. Bucky's chest goes tight with panic and he doesn't know what to do at first, until a nagging voice inside his head says pull yourself together, will ya? Steve needs you.

Steve needs him, and Bucky's fear fades away as he spurs into action. He speaks to Steve with calm words, telling him that he's dreaming and whatever he's seeing isn't real. Steve doesn't seem like he's going to have a violent outburst, so Bucky reaches out and uses touch to ground him, so worried about Steve that he forgets to be self-conscious about his metal hand. He does his damnedest to bring Steve back to him, does all the things Steve has been doing for him for months.

"I dreamed that you fell again," Steve says breathlessly when he's finally fully awake. "You fell and I still couldn't save you."

His voice sounds shaky and he clings to Bucky tightly, as if he needs to make sure he's real. Like if he could just hold on tight enough he could banish the unnecessary guilt he carries about Bucky slipping out of his grasp the first time.

Bucky starts to speak but then he thinks better of it. He tamps down on the instinct to say that Bucky Barnes is dead, that he fell off a train and is never coming back. Partly because he doesn't think that's entirely true anymore, but mostly because that's the last thing Steve needs to hear right now.

Instead he pulls Steve into his arms and says, "You always try and take on too much. Wasn't your fault, okay? When are you gonna get that through your thick skull?"

Steve laughs but it comes out more like a sob. "Jerk. Guess you'll have to stick around until I do then."

The "please don't leave me again" remains unspoken, but Bucky hears it loud and clear in the tone of Steve's voice. Steve has been holding it together so well for the past few months, but it's taken its toll on him.

Bucky swallows hard. "I got you, Stevie. I'm right here."

"Bucky," Steve says, his raw, wounded voice muffled as he buries his face into Bucky's neck. Steve's shaking like a leaf and Bucky holds him tighter and does his best to steady him. It isn't long before Steve falls apart, his whole body shaking with gut-wrenching sobs and his fingers trembling as he clings to the back of Bucky's shirt.

It hurts Bucky to hear Steve in so much pain, but he doesn't flinch away from it. He just runs his fingers through Steve's hair and murmurs, "I got you, Stevie," over and over again.

While Bucky stays awake long after Steve has drifted off, he doesn't move or try and get out of bed. He just keeps holding on to Steve, silent and vigilant like a lone sentinel watching over Steve's dreams.

***

Bucky wakes up in the early morning when the sun is just barely beginning to rise. After having shifted around in their sleep, Steve is on his side facing away from Bucky and Bucky's arm is slung across Steve's torso. Weak rays of light stream through the window, catching on the strands of Steve's golden hair. He seems peaceful and the sound of his slow, even breathing is a relief to Bucky every single time even though he knows Steve hasn't had asthma in years.

Normally Bucky would be leaving now and wouldn't return until it's time to go to sleep, but today is different: Bucky wants to spend the day with Steve, if Steve will have him. Wants to spend every day with Steve really. He thinks he's finally ready.

He's not "better" and he probably never will be, but he's better than he has been in a very long time. He'll take what he can get.

Bucky lays there quietly for a few minutes. He doesn't want to wake Steve because he must be exhausted from the night before, but he's also restless and itching to move, his thoughts racing too fast.

Bucky decides to go for a walk. He used to do that sometimes, especially in the days before he and Steve realized they were in love and he was trying so hard to keep his feelings a secret. It's also become a bit of a daily routine to him, walking down the streets of New York or whatever other city he finds himself in. Maybe it's crazy, but he feels like with every step he gets closer and closer to getting his head on straight.

Bucky silently slips out of bed and starts getting dressed for his walk. He thinks it's a good plan; Steve will have time to sleep and Bucky will have time to work out his restless energy and clear his head, time to think about all the things he needs to say to Steve. He'll be back before Steve wakes up and then they'll have plenty of time to talk and try to figure some of their shit out. Bucky's all ready to go and is just slipping on a glove to hide his metal hand when he hears Steve's voice cut through the silence.

"Don't leave. Please."

Steve looks stricken and Bucky thinks that maybe he fucked up, maybe he should have woken Steve up and kissed him goodbye before going out. How many mornings has Steve had to face waking up to find Bucky gone again? How many mornings was Steve actually awake when Bucky left, but he was just too good of a person to try and make Bucky stay? It's not that Steve isn't strong enough to handle it, even if it hurts him. It's just that he shouldn't have to.

There are a million things Bucky could say right now, but he tries not to think about it too hard and just let it come naturally. In the end he finds himself slipping into something that's feeling more and more familiar every time.

Bucky rolls his eyes and sighs. "Jesus Christ, I'm just going for a walk, Stevie. I'll be right back, okay?" he drawls, though the cadence in his voice isn't quite the same as it was all those years ago. His rhythm is a bit slower and his tone isn't as bright, but that's okay.

Bucky knows he will never be who he was before Hydra got their hands on him. He's still not completely sure of who he is, but when Steve looks at him... there's so much love in his eyes and Bucky is humbled by it. Bucky thinks about all the time he has wasted worrying about being unworthy, while missing the fact that Steve's love is unconditional and immutable.

He's spent months feeling guilty, thinking that he doesn't belong here and that his presence is an insult both to Steve and to the man Bucky used to be. But now he understands that it's a graver insult to Steve to not accept what's being freely offered. Bucky doesn't remember much about the nuns at the orphanage, but he knows they must have taught him better manners than this; you don't look a gift horse in the mouth, and Steve's love is by far the greatest gift Bucky has ever been given.

"I'll be right back. I... I promise," Bucky says, swears it like an oath. Steve nods and the worst of the tension bleeds out of his posture.

"Can't leave you alone anyway, you'll probably do something stupid and get yourself killed without me around."

"Yeah, probably," Steve says, and even though he laughs he looks teary-eyed.

Bucky feels his own eyes burn too, and tries not to think too hard about the fact that this is the first time he's thought of himself as "Bucky" and it didn't feel wrong. Maybe he really is making progress, whatever that means.

He and the old Bucky have at least one thing in common: loving Steve. It's a love so strong that Bucky broke through his programming and pulled Steve out of the water, even when he didn't really even know who he was. It's enough. It's more than enough.

"I'll make breakfast, we can eat when you get back," Steve says after taking a moment to collect himself. "Do you still like pancakes?"

Bucky pauses, considering Steve's question. All he has are fleeting impressions of having breakfast with Steve and his mom before she died, sense memories of the smell of cornmeal and sometimes even bacon wafting through the air and his chest buzzing with excitement while he waited for the food to be finished cooking. But that was a long time ago.

"I don't know," he says finally.

"I guess we'll find out then."

Bucky smiles, both awkward and genuine. "Yeah. We will."

Steve smiles too, so bright that it almost hurts to look at him. Bucky holds his gaze anyway because it's just so damn good to see Steve smile again. That he had any hand in it at all is the best thing Bucky has done in decades.

He knows this has been hard on Steve, that he's been hurting and struggling, even though he's a damn fool and would never say so. But Bucky doesn't need Steve to be a hero. He doesn't want Captain America, has never wanted that for Steve even though he can't think of anyone more worthy of the title.

I only ever wanted you.

The Bucky Barnes he used to be would hate him for becoming this shell of man, but he'd hate him even more if he broke the promise he'd made to himself all those years ago: to always protect Steve and stand by him. For the past few months, Steve has been carrying him, protecting him as he sorts through the bits and pieces of his life to stitch himself together again. Steve is the strongest person he's ever known but Bucky wants to be strong now too, if not to carry Steve, then for them to carry each other.

In some ways, Steve is still his mission. Maybe he always has been.

He remembers going to the Captain America exhibition at the Smithsonian and reading about how Steve had stormed a Hydra base alone and freed the 107th. However, there was something the historical records left out: even though Steve is a good man (the best, a little voice inside him supplies), there was one particular person at that base that he was looking for, one person he would foolishly walk into hell for without a second thought.

Bucky remembers a private moment in the aftermath when Steve told him as much. Bucky had read him the riot act about being an idiot and how just because he'd taken the serum that didn't mean he was invincible. Steve had only calmly and clearly looked into Bucky's eyes and told him that he had no regrets and would do the same thing over again if given the chance.

Maybe Bucky has always been Steve's mission too.

Bucky sits down on the bed beside Steve. He cups Steve's chin in his human hand and then kisses him slow and sweet.

"You don't have to make me breakfast, Stevie," Bucky says. "You should get some more sleep."

"Nah," Steve says with a shrug. "I sleep better with you here."

"Yeah. Yeah, me too." Bucky looks away, takes a moment to pull himself together before turning over and smirking at Steve. "Even though you hog all the covers."

"What? I do not," Steve protests.

"Yeah, you do. I don't know why though. You're like a damn furnace." Bucky wonders if it's just an ingrained habit, a holdover from before the serum when Steve was sickly and cold all the time.

"But it's alright. Don't need covers when I got you to keep me warm, right?"

Steve swallows hard and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse with emotion. "That's right. And don't you forget it."

"I wouldn't dare," Bucky says. "Besides, I gotta stick around, let you make an honest man out of me. And you better use your Captain America money to take me shopping. I'm getting sick of wearing your pajamas."

Steve's eyes are still watery and when he laughs this time he has to wipe away a stray tear.

Bucky gives Steve one more lingering kiss and then slips out of the bedroom. For the first time, he goes out the front door, snagging Steve's keys from the kitchen counter on his way out. He could easily pick the lock, but he knows that seeing the keys missing will put Steve's worries to rest, another reminder of Bucky's promise to return.

He knows there's a part of Steve that wanted to tell him to crawl back into bed and not go out. But while Steve can be stubborn to a fault, he's not stupid. He knows that Bucky has spent years having no control over himself. He understands how important it is for Bucky to be able to make decisions, even something so small as going for a walk in the morning. Bucky may be all kinds of fucked up, but he's not an invalid. He's a work in progress, trying to find a balance between what he needs to do for his recovery and what he wants to do to help Steve with his own.

There's a bit of a chill in the springtime air, but Bucky hardly feels it. As he walks, he thinks about all the things he's learned and relearned about himself over the past few months.

He's learned how to be both selfish and giving, to give pleasure and receive it in return.

He's realized that he likes wearing Steve's older pajamas more than his new ones because he likes the smell of Steve and the feel of soft, worn cotton on his skin.

He wants to stop putting his shoes away neatly and leave them lying around for Steve to trip over instead, just because he thinks it would be hilarious.

He thinks Steve's bed is too soft, but it doesn't matter to him as long as Steve is in it.

His mind is still scrambled and sometimes he needs quiet moments alone.

He loves Steve more than anything in the world.

And who knows, maybe he even likes pancakes.

When Bucky reaches the park near Steve's apartment, he sits down on a bench and looks up, lets the sunlight wash over him. Bucky closes his eyes and breathes in, feels the wind in his hair as he uses his heightened senses to feel something good for once, something beautiful.

He drinks in the sounds of the city and thinks of Steve, at home waiting for him. And for the first time in seventy years, Bucky thinks things might actually end up being alright.