Chapter Text
Bucky’s making French toast, and Steve’s “helping” him. Really, Steve’s throwing him these sad little looks and trying not to let Bucky catch him. Like Bucky doesn’t notice everything Steve does. Finally, when Bucky can’t take the puppy-dog eyes anymore, he turns to Steve and gives him a bitter little smile.
“Guess that answers my question about how well I’ll do with fireworks, huh?” He jokes. He flips a piece of French toast and misjudges the strength in his arm. It splats on the counter.
“You did great, Buck,” Steve tells him in a rush. “Really. I’m proud of you.”
Bucky…can’t think about that. That’s going to take time to process, and he doesn’t have time right now. Every conversation with Steve goes fast, because Steve’s so quick and pushes back on Bucky. It’s great, it’s nice, but it doesn’t leave much room for Bucky to parse through his emotions.
“Yeah, well,” Bucky says with a shrug. “Next Fourth of July oughta be fun.”
Steve hands him a plate, reminding him to keep moving on breakfast. They’ve got a dining room full of hungry friends. And then Steve says, so casual and easy, “We should go to the cabin again next year. That was good.”
Bucky wants to just close his eyes for a second. They can’t go to the cabin again next year. In June, they have to get divorced, and they can’t spend July—Steve’s birthday—together after they’re divorced. The Commandos would definitely have some questions.
Besides, Steve will have moved on by then. He’s halfway out the door already, and every reminder of that stabs at Bucky. He knows he’s the problem here. Steve’s sticking to the plan, keeping things light and fun between them, and Bucky had to go and ruin everything by falling for the little punk. He knows Steve doesn’t feel the same way, knows Steve will move on past Bucky with little more than a backward glance, because Steve is the kind of guy everyone wants to be around, so smart and strong and good. If it isn’t Peggy, it’ll be someone else, someone better for Steve.
Bucky also knows he can’t tell Steve how he feels, can’t tell him about that cavern in his chest that opens up every time he thinks about Steve leaving, Steve packing up, never seeing Steve again. Steve would be apologetic while he let Bucky down; he’s a good person, so he’d feel bad, and his pity would be the kind of wound Bucky won’t get over.
But even worse, Steve might stay. Steve’s the kind of guy who’d feel obligated, feel like he had to his part to help out poor Bucky Barnes with his metal arm and his messed-up anxieties and his broken brain, because Bucky went off to war or just because Steve thinks other people should get what they want. Steve would shoulder the burden with the stoicism of a martyr, and Bucky would hate himself forever for doing it to him.
So Bucky blanks out his feelings, swallows everything down and makes his voice stay even and normal as he reminds Steve, “We won’t be spending next Fourth of July together.”
“Wha—” Steve stops when he realizes what Bucky’s saying, and Bucky can’t look at him, can’t see the lack of pain in his eyes when he thinks about the end of this little arrangement.
“Grab those eggs, will ya?” Bucky asks, voice steady as he turns his back so he can wince without Steve catching him.
It’s not even just that he’d love to stay married to Steve for real, get sleepy morning kisses without an audience, listen to Steve’s erratic rabbit-fast heartbeat every night for the rest of his life, hold Steve’s ink-stained, calloused hands whenever he wants and not just when people are watching or one of them’s breaking down.
It’s also that Steve doesn’t shy away from Bucky, not even when he’s in a dark space in his head and snapping at anyone coming close like a dog who’s been kicked too many times. It’s also that Steve doesn’t let Bucky get away with anything just because he got strapped to a table and stuck full of needles. It’s also because Steve looks at Bucky and just sees Bucky, not Sergeant Barnes, not James. It’s also that Steve has a chip on his shoulder at least as big as his too-caring heart, and the dichotomy between the two fascinates Bucky.
But Steve’s keeping his end of the bargain. He’s there, Bucky got his FAFSA filed, and Steve’s putting in his time. Bucky can’t ask him for more than that.
So he takes the plate of French toast into the dining room, and he puts on a big grin when everyone cheers, and he avoids the assessing gaze of Natasha. She unsettles him, because she’s always watching, and he’s sure she sees more than he wants her to. And when Steve comes in behind him with the eggs, Bucky joins the next round of cheers, and he sits between Dugan and Clint, and he doesn’t go out of his way to catch Steve’s eye across the table or brush their legs together. Bucky knows his place in this situation, and he’s trying his best to stick to it.