Chapter Text
The results were--intimidating.
On one hand, he was flattered. Humbled. Elated and overwhelmed. On the other hand, he was confused, disbelieving, and terrified.
Bucky thought he might be in some state of shock.
It was more than most dancers dreamed of. Okay, maybe they dreamed, but so few ever actually achieved. You hoped for a good placement, a good company to start your career with; someplace you could make a name for yourself, get good experience, and perhaps move along in a few years.
So many spent their best years in the core--doing port de bras in the background, lifting the girls in a series of simple yet pretty arrays that decorated the stage. Only a select few got the title of Soloist, or Principal.
To be offered such right off the bat was nearly unheard of.
He had a choice. A difficult choice.
One option would leave him here, close to family friends, in the city he knew and loved so well. The other--the other would take him away. Away from his sister, away from his friends, away from New York.
Away from Steve.
#
The gala had begun promptly at ten o’clock, just as the theater let out. Steve and Sam had dutifully donned their vests over their dress-shirts and made their way around the room, serving hors d’oeuvres and champagne. The audience--mostly patrons and benefactors and parents--mingled and swayed to the gentle music of the band, discussing the performance and making predictions about the featured dancers and their futures. The graduates wouldn’t be along until after eleven; until after they had heard the results of their performance--offers from different dance companies from all over the world.
Nat appeared shortly after eleven, her hair loose around her shoulders and curled, wearing a simple black dress that she made appear anything but simple. She found Steve and Sam over by the stairs leading to the upper level and balcony. They’d emptied their serving trays and were procrastinating restocking in hopes of seeing their friends the moment they arrived.
Steve was glad to see Natasha looking as happy as she was--her offer must have been good--but he was disappointed that Bucky was not with her.
Sam spoke up first. “So what’s the verdict, pretty lady? Don’t leave us hanging.”
Nat had a way of smiling that always made Steve certain that she had arranged everything to go just as planned. He had no doubt that if no company had been prepared to make an offer (which was ridiculous) Nat would have had someone convinced by the end of the night. “New York,” she said. “With the added compliment that they don’t see me staying in the core for very long.”
“That’s wonderful!” Steve set his tray aside so he could hug her, and Sam followed suit. They gushed for a while, making sure she had the moment she deserved, feeling the relief of knowing that even though she had graduated she wouldn’t be far away. Life didn’t have to change that much.
“James isn’t here yet?” Nat said, before Steve could even ask. He loved her for that--somehow she always knew; saved him from himself as he worried when the right time to ask about his best friend was. “I would have thought he’d get here before me.”
“You haven’t seen him?” Steve asked, placing a new worry in his old worry’s place. Had he missed Bucky somehow? Was he not here at all? Had he missed a text? Was something wrong?
“Not since I last saw you,” Nat said, winking at him in a completely conspicuous manner. “Sam, you owe me twenty bucks.”
“What? No way! I was sure it would take them at least until graduation to figure themselves out.” Fishing around in his pocket with one hand, Sam clapped Steve on the shoulder with his other. “Happy for you, man.” He slapped a twenty into Natasha’s waiting palm.
“Thanks,” Steve said absently, having grabbed his phone. No missed texts.
“It’s about damn time, honestly. Hey,” Sam gave Steve a little shake, “you listening to me? What’s up?”
“Sorry. Nothing. I just--Wondering where Bucky is, that’s all.”
“He’ll have to show up eventually,” Natasha pointed out. Towards the end of the night, the director of their academy always introduced each of the graduates. A final bow, so to speak.
“True.” Even so, Steve sent off a quick text. Hey. Everyone is looking for you. J You’re missing all the fun.
“I’m starving,” Natasha said, flicking at Sam’s empty tray. “Aren’t you two supposed to be feeding me?”
Sam dramatically twisted his face in thought. “Eh, I’m not sure that’s quite how it goes.”
“You’re supposed to have food.”
“Always so hungry.”
“Of course.” She turned about, graceful as always, looking over the room for something to satisfy her hunger.
Steve’s phone vibrated lightly in his hand. It was Bucky.
Can you meet me outside?
Supposed to be working. And you’re supposed to be soaking up all the glory.
Just . . . Can you? Please.
It was the ‘please’ that indicated something was up. If Bucky had been looking for another clandestine make-out session, he would have been far more teasing, perhaps even a little crass.
“That Bucky?” Sam asked.
“Yeah. He needs me to meet him outside.”
That got Nat’s attention, stalling her search for food. “Everything okay?”
“Don’t know. He just asked if I could meet him outside--”
“Go,” Sam said, grabbing both his and Steve’s trays. “We’ll cover for you.”
“Sam will cover for you,” Natasha said. “Serving, that is. I’ll run interference while I find someone who will actually serve me food.”
“You’re the best.” Steve kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks a lot.”
“I don’t get a kiss?” Sam teased, calling after him as Steve headed towards the door. Steve only laughed, throwing up a wave as both a goodbye and a sorry.
As he walked, he texted Bucky back. On my way. Where are you?
It took all of three seconds for the reply to come through.
Front sidewalk. Under the marquee.
So that’s where Steve went.
It had started raining. A drizzle, really, nothing devastating. But Bucky had stood close enough to the edge of the marquee that his good suit had gotten damp, and his hair sparkled with the rain drops it had caught. He’d leaned up against the wall of the building, streetlights casting shadows around him, illuminating his face. Steve thought he looked like a dream, but he could also see the tension in his friend’s shoulders, and the distant look in his grey eyes.
“Buck?”
Drawing a deep breath, Bucky seemed to come to life. He turned his head, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a mockery of his normal, carefree smiles. “Hey, Steve.”
“You okay?” Steve placed himself at Bucky’s side, bracing one shoulder against the spring-warmed brick. “Thought you’d be in a better mood, all things considered. You did great tonight, and--” Steve cut himself off, a thought passing through his head that was absolutely unthinkable. He’d expected Bucky to be beside himself with joy, excited by the prospect of the future, of the company he would be dancing with. But--what if no one had made an offer?
Impossible. It had to be impossible. Not with the way Bucky danced. Everyone had seen it. He was brilliant. A genius. Any company would be lucky to have him, and--
“Buck, what happened? You must have gotten an offer, there’s no way you didn’t.”
“Yeah, I got offers.”
“Offers? More than one.”
“Yeah.” Bucky was staring at his shoes, toeing at a loose bit of gravel that had wandered up onto the sidewalk.
“That’s great!”
“Yup.”
“So then what’s the problem? Something else? You’re kinda scaring me here.”
“Nothing else happened. I just . . .” Bucky did that thing with his chin, working his jaw like he was going to say one thing, then settled on something else. “I got New York. Core.”
Steve still didn’t see the problem. “That’s amazing. Nat got New York, too.” He wanted to reach out and take Bucky’s hand, to touch him in some way that might make the floodgates open, and the truth coming pouring out, but those hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and his shoulders were hunched, making him as small and unreachable as possible.
“Bolshoi made an offer, too,” Bucky said, crinkling his nose when the wind picked up and blew the light rain into both their faces. “Soloist.”
Steve was speechless. Soloist. Right out of graduation! That was amazing, unheard of! He felt the proud smiling stretching his face. “Soloist. God, Buck. That’s incredible! I knew your talent wouldn’t go unnoticed. That’s so--really, really proud of you.”
Bucky lifted his head to look at him then, and his expression was one of someone who had just been gutted, not someone who’s talent had been acknowledged by one of the leading and most respected ballet companies in the world. “Bolshoi, Steve.”
“I know, Buck.”
“Moscow.”
“Yeah.”
“Russia.”
“Yeah . . .”
“Half way across the world, Steve!”
Oh. Oh. There was the problem. Steve let that sink in. Admittedly, that hadn’t occurred to him immediately. He’d just been so damn pleased to hear all the good stuff that his mind hadn’t yet taken the time to add everything up.
But Bucky had done the math.
And the results were potentially devastating.
But they didn’t have to be.
“You’re worried about being so far away.”
“Well, obviously!” Bucky’s hands pulled free of his pockets, raking through his hair instead, mussing the perfection the gel had held. “It’s just about as far away as a person can be! And Becca is still young, and I’m gonna have to scare all the boys off when they start comin’ round. And you and me--it was just last night that we--and I leave?”
Steve took Bucky’s left hand in his, dislodging it from the nape of his neck where he was pulling too hard on his hair. “You don’t have to make a decision right this second, Buck. You have a few days.”
Bucky scoffed. “Days.”
Steve stroked the backs of his knuckles, feeling the slight raise of skin where Bucky had a scar from a bike fall as a kid, but watching his face. “Whatever you decide, it won’t change anything for me.”
“Steve--”
“It won’t. We made it this long--being idiots, apparently, I’ll admit that--but we survived. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
Bucky stared at him a long moment. He looked lost, and scared, and frantic--and then he was kissing Steve. Grabbing his face in his hands and pulling him close with a desperate urgency. Steve parted his lips for him, letting Bucky in, letting him take what he needed. It surprised him, how natural this felt. How it seemed this was something they had always done, even while the thrill of it only gained strength. He let Bucky lead, let him have control, and wrapped his own arms around Bucky’s waist, holding him tight, keeping him close.
When they broke apart they were both breathing heavily. Steve felt that familiar old pull at his chest, but refused to let it stir to something more. He breathed carefully, calculatedly, counting and forcing himself to relax. The last thing Bucky needed right now was for Steve to start wheezing.
Bucky kept their foreheads pressed together, his hands hot and still cupping Steve’s face. His eyes were closed, and Steve couldn’t see that stormy grey that would have matched the weather, but the line of his mouth was enough to tell Steve that his best friend’s thoughts were still in turmoil.
“You don’t have to make a decision now,” he said. “Come inside. See Nat, Sam, your family. You were amazing tonight and you deserve a little praise.”
Bucky huffed a short laugh. “Just a little?”
“Yes. See? Your ego is showing. I don’t know how much it could take without becoming intolerable,” Steve teased, glad his tactic seemed to be working. A melancholy Bucky was never a good thing.
“Nonsense.”
“Come on.” Steve kissed him once more. Kissing Bucky was like a drug he craved now. How would he ever get by if Bucky did go all the way to-- No. Best not to think about that now. “Come inside. We’ll have a good time, get some much needed food in you, and then maybe I can repay a few of those favors from last night.”
That got Bucky’s attention. He pulled back so he could see Steve’s face, eyebrows nearly touching his hairline. “Is that so?”
Steve nodded. There were a few things he wanted to try. Things he hadn’t been able to get out of his head all day . . . “Sam’s going home again.” So his room would be theirs again.
“You gonna tell me what you have in mind?”
“No.” But he pulled Bucky back down, kissing him again. This time he led the way, brushing tongue and teeth over Bucky’s lips, into his mouth, trying to breathe him in. He stopped only when he felt evidence of getting ahead of himself--and the same evidence in Bucky, pressing against his hip.
Bucky groaned when Steve pulled away. “Not fair.”
“More where that came from. But you have to get through the gala first.”
Taking a deep breath, and shifting the fit of his pants, Bucky then reached out and grabbed Steve’s hand. “Gonna be the longest damned gala ever,” he muttered as he pulled Steve along, heading inside, out of the rain.
#
They didn’t talk about it anymore that night.
Bucky had plastered his usual grin across his face, gone into the gala, and shmoozed his teachers, and choreographers, the benefactors and representatives of other companies. He danced with Nat, putting on an impromptu show for everyone there. They moved deftly across the floor, unhindered by the formalwear that was so different from their usual tights. People clapped, and Becca teased, and his mother tried not to tear up too much. Mrs. Rogers passed her tissues when needed. Steve and Sam both had to work, but Steve was at Bucky’s side as often as possible. They even managed to sneak in a dance of their own, hidden amongst the crowd and feeling like they were the only two people in the room.
Eventually, Bucky’s smile became less of a mask and more and more real. He’d hugged his family, confirming plans to help him move out of the dorms and back home in two days time. Becca, never one to let too much show, had needled him most of the night, expressing her feigned disappointment with his performance, and her hope that he would be able to make a living dancing in the park for donations. But her hugs belied her true feelings. Bucky felt it in the way she clung just a little too long, and how she had taken his hand, squeezing tightly, more times than he could remember her doing since she was really little.
“So,” she’d said, hugging him goodbye at the end of the night, “how far across the world do I get to ship you?”
It was too close to the truth. Bucky’s smile had almost broken--he’d avoided telling anyone about his offers all night, just that he had some, and wanted time to think before he ran the options by anyone else. He’d cuffed his sister lightly across the shoulder. “No worries, Beccs. I’m moving back home in two days, into your room even. I thought it would be nicer if we shared. Bunk beds! You always thought those were cool. We can spend every waking minute together that way. I’ll even braid your hair before bed.”
She’d shoved him, but laughed.
Bucky felt something heavy close around his heart.
At the end of the night Bucky and Steve headed back to the dorms, kicking the door shut, and all but falling into bed. Hands were everywhere, mouths and tongues and teeth exploring and marking territory. Steve, despite there being nothing to actually repay, made good on his promise from earlier, eliciting shocked gasps and nearly silent cries from the normally verbose James Buchannan Barnes.
When they were spent, they curled together like two pieces of a puzzle, and breathed together until drowsiness began to set in.
Steve slept. Bucky didn’t.
Bucky spent the night watching Steve, tracing the lines of his face, the freckles along his collarbones and shoulders. He listened to the familiar cadence of Steve’s lungs--not always as clear and smooth as it should be, but so a part of Steve that Bucky found it comforting regardless.
He thought about New York. He thought about the Bolshoi.
He made lists in his head. Pros and Cons. Reasons why and Reasons why not. In the end, it seemed to come down to two things: Stay with his family and friends, or go halfway across the world and carve out a small place in history.
Bucky was just ambitious enough that it had its appeal. He could admit that.
The next morning he waited for Steve to wake up, kissed him breathless before once again using his body to make his best friend forget his own name, then dragged himself from bed for breakfast and a quick trip home.
Steve must have noticed that something was up. That Bucky’s mind was distracted and pulled in a million and one directions, but he never said anything. He knew. Bucky knew he knew. Steve knew him well enough that he let Bucky sort his thoughts out on his own first. They would talk later.
Becca had piano lessons Saturday mornings, and so when Bucky slipped in through the front door of his family’s apartment, he was relieved to find his mother alone at the kitchen table.
She smiled as if she had expected him. Of course she’d expected him. “Made you some tea,” she said, gesturing to the mug already on the table across from her. “And there are croissants in the oven keeping warm.”
Bucky grabbed three before sitting down.
“I know I told you before,” his mother said as he sat, “but you were so amazing last night. Really, really brilliant.” She reached across the table, taking his hand for a brief moment before letting him eat.
“Thanks,” Bucky said through a mouthful. “It felt good.”
“But it doesn’t feel so good now? Oh, come on, don’t look at me that way. I’ve been your mother for over ten years now. I know when something is bothering you. What is it?”
He didn’t know how to start. Dammit. He’d practiced this all night long, and on the subway ride over. “It’s just--I mean--It’s the offers.”
“More than one is a big deal.”
“A really big deal.” He pulled his second croissant apart, but didn’t eat it.
“But it also means making a choice.”
“A really difficult choice.” He stared into his tea, wondering about those people who read tea leaves. Would they be able to give him any insight? Bucky was pretty willing to take anything he could get at this point.
His mother, bless her, simply wrapped her hands around her mug and took a sip of that dark roast coffee she liked so much. “So tell me.”
“New York. Core. I’d get to stay here. With you, with Becca, and my friends.”
“And the other option?” she prompted when his voice got stuck in his throat and the rest of the words didn’t want to seem to come out.
“Bolshoi.” He said it quickly, feeling his heart race with the word. “Soloist.”
His mother’s mug clattered against the table. “Soloist?” she said, once she’d regained the ability.
“Yeah,” Bucky said, feeling shyer about it than he normally did with anything, but also--proud. Accomplished. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“James, that’s . . . that’s incredible, sweetheart!”
“Thanks.” There was a knot in his stomach that didn’t seem to be leaving any more room for his food or tea. It felt different, saying it out loud. To someone other than Steve, to his mother. It made it--real. This was something he actually had to decide. New York, or Moscow. His future, his career, his life--He’d known the showcase would lead him down the next path, but he’d never imagined a fork in the road like this. How was anyone supposed to make this kind of decision?
He heard his mother’s chair scrape against the tile floor, felt her hand settle on his arm as she sat closer to him. “You know you don’t have to make the decision this moment,” she said.
“Gotta make it by the end of next week. Just feels like . . . like taking that long to think about it will be torture.”
“It’s not something to be taken lightly.”
“I know.”
“Why don’t you make a list? Pros and Cons, write out all your thoughts about each, see how you feel about things once it’s all on paper?”
Bucky ran a hand through his hair, then pressed the heel of that same hand into his eye. “Didn’t sleep last night. Ran through everything in my head already.”
“And?”
“And, I don’t--I mean . . . Russia is really far away. Becca is still little, and with Dad gone . . .”
Her hand on his arm tightened a bit. “Don’t do that. Don’t do that to yourself. This is your life, your decision. You are not responsible for staying home and looking after us.”
“I know, I know, but . . .Being so far away, it’s--”
“You have never been afraid of leaving home. You practically packed your bags five years ago when you found that ballet intensive in California, and that was before you even asked if you could go. You were gone the entire summer, and you went every year until last year.”
“This is a little different than summer camp.”
“Not really. It doesn’t have to be permanent. Maybe when your contract is up you come back to New York, with experience and solos on your resume that young dancers only dream of. Maybe you go and you fall in love with Russia and decide to make your life there. You can’t know any of that right now.”
“So you think I should go?” Bucky looked at her, at the face that had soothed his nightmares as a child, kissed his bruises and cuts, scolded him when he was being an idiot. “You want me to go to Russia?” It was stupid, he knew, but he couldn’t help feeling like she was chasing him away.
“I think you shouldn’t discount something because of an irrational fear,” she said, reaching up and brushing his hair out of his face. “I think you have two wonderful opportunities in front of you, and no matter which you choose you have a fabulous career ahead of you, but you need to make the choice you want, not what others tell you.”
Bucky ducked his head, pushing his croissants around on his plate again. “I don’t know how I feel about being so far away.”
“Does this have to do with Steve?”
“What?” His head snapped up so fast he felt something pinch in his neck. He winced and rubbed it away.
“Steve. That little blond who’s been your shadow for as long as I can remember? The one you go everywhere with. Including that summer intensive.” She was smiling now, smiling like she knew something he didn’t, or something he should have known.
“I don’t know what you--”
“Oh please, James. I saw you two last night at the gala. Sneaking off here and there, getting in a quick dance together when you thought no one was looking. It’s sweet. And about damn time.”
“What?” He let his arms thump down to the table. “Did everyone know except us?”
His mother continued to smile, warm and knowing. “I believe so, sweetheart.”
“Jesus.” He leaned back, head tipped over the back of the chair, staring at the ceiling. “So much wasted time.”
“Watch your mouth. But no, I don’t think it was wasted at all. There’s never anything wrong with friendship.”
“Still.”
“So you don’t want to leave Steve. What does he have to say about it?”
“That it won’t change anything. But we haven’t really talked much about it. Not since I told him last night.”
“Do you believe him? That it won’t change anything?”
“How could it not? We just figured this out, and now I leave? I’d be as far away as humanly possible!”
“What if the offer was Steve’s? What would you want him to do?”
“I’m more selfish than Steve. I’d want him to stay.”
“Would you really?”
Bucky drew his head upright once more, the movement heavy and strained. “No,” he said with a sigh, not really needing to think about it. “I’d want him to do what was best for him. What he wanted.”
“You realize you haven’t talked about New York once this whole time,” his mother said, watching him. “It seems like you know exactly which choice you want to make.”
He did. He really did. But it still hurt, and just because you made a choice, wanted something, didn’t make it the right thing, the right choice. His ego be dammed, he wanted his place as a soloist. He wanted the experience, he wanted to travel, see the world.
But he also wanted Steve. Steve with him, at his side, in an apartment he could come home to at the end of the day.
“What if I’m wrong?” His voice came out a whisper, a sound a child might make in the dark.
“Then you come home.” Simple. Easy. No judgment. “You come home, and you get another job.” She brushed his hair back once more, playing with it as she had when he was young. “No one would begrudge you the chance to do this. And yes, Russia is far, but if it’s what you want, then we will make it work. After all, it’s not as if we’ll all forget you just because of a little distance.” Fingers under his chin, she turned his head so she could see his face. “You’re far too charming and good looking for that.” She winked.
“And people wonder where my ego comes from.”
“Oh, no, darling. No one wonders.” She pulled him close, kissing his forehead, then stood to take her mug to the sink.
Bucky picked at his food, eating the rest of the croissants as he let their conversation sink in.
She was right, he knew what he wanted.
He just had to be brave enough to take it.
But Steve had always been the brave one.