Chapter Text
The beach wasn't comforting that day despite bright sunshine baking the sand. Despite waves rolling in around his ankles. Even the playful cry of seagulls and the distant sounds of merriment from the boardwalk where tourists enjoyed their vacations were lost on Steve.
He kicked a bare foot through the foam, felt the sand shift beneath his feet as the retreating current pulled it from beneath him. But he couldn't feel the joyous laughter. He couldn't enjoy watching the teens and their volleyball game. All he could see was the flash of electric blue. All he could hear were the shrieks of New Yorkers fleeing around him.
Monsters had fallen from the skies that day. He could still see the hideous visage of an Other, of a Chitauri, screaming its fury in his face. Could still taste the acrid burn of electricity whenever their weapons discharged, making the fillings in his teeth ache in memory.
Everything had changed that day. When Steve, along with two squadrons of the Space Ready Airmen, had deployed in defense of Earth's sovereignty. The Howling Commandos, led by Captain Steve Rogers, and Shield, led by Captain Carol Danvers, had stood between humanity and subjugation.
Three years had passed since he could remember what peace felt like.
“Man, look at that gimp over there.”
The kid's voice finally wrenched him from his thoughts, and he became aware of a volleyball rolling to a stop several feet away and the teen who rushed to grab it, but the guy wasn't talking about him.
“Why even bother?” asked the teen's friend.
“Anything like that ever happens to me? Shoot me dead, Man.”
Steve tracked their attention to a young man in a powered wheelchair. He couldn't have been more than twenty and was accompanied by a girl about his age and an adult male with a severe widow's peak. The guy parked out of reach of the surf and pushed himself onto shaky legs. A few steps ended in exhaustion, at which point, he became dependent on his companions to ferry him into the water.
A long sleeved shirt couldn't hide that one arm was significantly thinner than the other, as though much of the muscle mass had been excised. The rest of him appeared lean and in shape, but his Hawaiian caregiver remained close at hand once ocean water helped buoy his body.
Maybe it was rude, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the guy. The two moved about practicing different swim strokes. Kicking his legs and paddling against the current quickly wore the guy out, but he didn't give up. Neither did his smile waver. Something deep lurked beneath his eyes, a gritty determination that kept him from collapsing long past his endurance.
Further abuse from the teens returned his attention to the pricks. One of them heckled the man with taunts of “Run, Forest, run!” The other laughed along rather than calling out his friend.
“Show some fucking respect,” snarled Steve.
“Hey, Man. Can't you take a joke?”
“Able-bodied twerps jeering at someone getting some exercise isn't a fucking joke. You wanna back off? Or you want me to make you back off?”
“Dude.” The smaller of the two possessed some sense, as he raised both hands in surrender and prodded his companion away from Steve. “No harm. No foul.”
“Harm. And foul.”
He knew the moment the larger of the pair wised up to Steve's bulk, to the military precision with which Steve carried himself. The youth retreated. His heel caught on a clump of sand, causing him to nearly sprawl along the beach and was saved only by his friend's quick reflexes.
Steve watched them to ensure they intended to remain at the volleyball net with their cohorts before turning his attention back to the young man. For a brief moment, their glances snagged. The mirth, the brightness contained inside those pale eyes, made him feel like he'd been punched in the gut.
Slowly, a slight grin curling the man's mouth, the stranger nodded in appreciation of Steve's defense.
For his part, Steve pressed a hand against his heart to indicate his readiness to defend anyone being punched down toward. He never expected to see the handsome stranger again and allowed his gaze to wander briefly over the man's boyish frame, not yet filled to manhood but far from willowy youth.
The stranger cracked a smile and offered a vague salute with two fingers before his caregivers seized possession of his attention again as they brought out a ball to be tossed around.
Steve left feeling unsettled and dreamed that night about a pair of pale eyes and hands reaching toward him before the side of a building was sheared off by an alien whale. The last he saw was pale eyes plummeting toward the ground far below and the heavy weight of guilt heaped upon his own shoulders.
***
Needing a drastic change from his former career path—the SRA was a specialized division in the Air Force trained to pilot the F40 Avengers, a new breed of aircraft capable of space flight and designed to respond to intergalactic threats—Steve had fallen back on his second love: marine biology. His friend and roommate, Sam Wilson, liked teasing him about his odd combination of interests. Marine biology and a lucrative career in the Air Force didn't seem to go hand in hand, but he found something close to the peace much lacking in his life while working with marine animals.
So he had secured work at Sea Life Park: Hawaii, located in the southeast corner of Oahu. After retiring, he'd thrown himself into his new life, maybe not with a great deal of enthusiasm but with the standard work ethic that had seen him piloting a plane that had cost tax payers two hundred million dollars at the tender age of twenty-four. Getting a bunch of thirty and forty year olds to follow the commands of an upstart like Steve had taken some doing.
Compared to dog fighting aliens through the narrow streets of Manhattan, wrangling penguins and seeing to the needs of a staggeringly obese walrus named Jocko was cake walk. Or so his stress level insisted. He'd settled into his new life with something close to contentment.
Grabbing a bucket of fish from the department freezer, he paused a moment to massage his aching neck. He'd slept wrong last night and woke up with a neck ache the likes of which had left his head screaming for the better part of the day.
“You look like shit, Rogers,” Wilson said.
He turned to find his roommate leaning against the doorway, body covered in a smock dripping with seafood guts. Sam had lost the bet last week to determine which of the new recruits was responsible for prepping meals for the animals for the week. Steve fondly remembered graduating from that duty last year when he'd been promoted to team lead.
“Slept wrong. My neck's killing me.”
Fabric rustled. The next thing he knew, Sam had stripped off his smock and elbow-length gloves, and had turned Steve toward the wall. Warm fingers dug into the tendons along either side of his neck.
“Whoa!” Suddenly tense, he jumped away from the ministration. “What are you doing?”
“Shut up and praise the magic hands, Rogers.” Not to be out-flanked, Wilson took firm hold of his hips and maneuvered him the way his roommate wanted. “Loosen up, Man. I'm not trying to shove my dick in you.”
He froze once the touch returned but submitted to the ministrations. Men weren't physically affectionate in the military, not even after the repealing of DADT. The environment had been soaked in the kind of hyper-masculinity that made him incredibly aware of what affectionate behaviors “real” men were allowed. Hint: It didn't involve neck massages from your best friend.
“Maybe if you'd stop falling asleep in the recliner, you wouldn't wake up with your neck knotted tighter than a shoe lace.”
Steve shrugged. He winced when Wilson found an especially tender section of muscle and dug fingers there. Pain screamed up his neck. He swore he wouldn't be able to tolerate Sam's not-so-tender nursing another second. Next thing he knew, the muscle eased, and relief washed through his posture.
“Thanks.”
“Don't mention it. Take off early, Man. I'll hold down the fort.”
“No, I'm--” One look from Sam's soulful eyes made him stutter. He only had another hour and a half left of his shift anyway. “Fine.” He shoved the pail toward Sam. “Jocko needs his afternoon feeding, but don't let him pout you into giving him more than his allotted calories. That guy needs to lose some serious weight. And try to get him moving. He seems interested in the beach balls today.”
“You got it, Man.”
Steve only tarried long enough to remove his smock, stripping down to the base uniform of bland khakis and a polo shirt before jumping behind the wheel of his jeep. It was rare for him to feel like doing much of anything after work, but driving along the coast sounded like a good way to wind down.
Besides, he needed to make himself scarce for the afternoon. Peggy was visiting from England for the week, and their relationship was complicated. Peggy and he had dated for a while. She'd been part of the team that had accompanied him on his third jump to Mars. Sharon, Peggy's niece, had dropped into their laps six months after Sam and Steve had moved in together.
A true Bohemian, the blond had traveled from England with zero money in her wallet and a student visa that had since expired. They'd found her sleeping on a park bench reeking of pot and dreaming of the slow life in Hawaii. Little had she known that being a tourist destination did not allow one to live the slow island life so many romanticized about.
They'd taken Sharon in, completely unaware of her relationship to Steve's ex, gotten her a job at a local food truck, and given her a place to lay her head at night. She'd since opened a successful food truck with her business partner, Luis, that specialized in Hawaiian and Mexican fusion food. The fact that she constantly smelled like jalapeno peppers and brought them leftovers from work had only a little to do with her continued presence in their apartment.
Tires crunched over gravel when Steve eventually stopped for an early dinner at the Hukilau Cafe. It was an old structure with a rusting metal roof perched right next to a quiet ocean inlet. A plethora of native plants dotted the landscape around the gravel parking lot. The place was practically empty, so he headed in to take a seat at the bar. A waiter greeted him and left him to look over the menu.
It wasn't until minutes later when he felt eyes drilling into the back of his head that he turned on his bar stool. To say that he was shocked to see the guy from the beach would have been an understatement. Admitting that he was even more attractive at closer range just wasn't happening.
He didn't know what prompted him to gather his menu and approach the stranger. Maybe it was a moment of insanity. Maybe it was the end of a stressful week. Whatever the reason, he was standing in front of the guy before his brain had given permission for his legs to carry him.
“Mind some company?”
The guy tore a piece from his waffle and propped it up to serve as a door for the little waffle house he'd created. Graham crackers served as the roof. “'S a free country.”
Taking that as permission—at least he hadn't been told to fuck off—he sat down on the bench across from the guy and watched him for a moment before introducing himself. “Steve Rogers.”
“Bucky Barnes.”
“Your ma never told you it was rude to play with your food?” He meant for it to be mildly teasing, having forgotten the gruff quality of his voice these past few years didn't lend itself well to such.
“My ma left us when I was a baby.”
He waited for some further explanation or to see if Bucky might crack a grin. Neither happened. “That sucks.” Because the normal platitude of 'I'm sorry' had gotten hollow after losing his own mother to tuberculosis at the age of seventeen. Most people didn't die of TB after the invention of antibiotics, but she'd been hit with a super strain that hadn't responded well to treatment.
“She ran off with my dad's best friend after he caught them fucking in the house.”
“That's really rough.”
“Do you want to ask about my wheelchair?”
“No.”
A sable brow arched.
“We just met. You're not obligated to tell me personal shit. Just thought you might like some company. If you'd rather be alone, I can go.”
He was preparing to get up when Bucky's hand spanned the table and rested over his forearm. “What you did on the beach the other day. Thanks. There aren't a lot of people willing to step in these days.”
“It was--”
“Don't tell me it was nothing. Thirty people on that beach and you're the only one who said anything.”
Steve nodded to avoid downplaying his actions. Really, it hadn't been a big deal. What was lambasting two teens into treating someone with common dignity to a man like him? A man who had a good career, accomplishments, his health. People should stand up when they could.
“Do you know what I saw when I looked at you that day?”
“A guy in a wheelchair floundering in the ocean?” The corner of Bucky's mouth popped up.
“Saw a guy who was fucking smiling and having a good time.”
“It was a gorgeous day, wasn't it.”
The waiter interrupted their conversation to take Steve's order of lau lau, sticky rice, and purple sweet potatoes. He asked of Bucky wanted anything else since the waffles didn't seem to be of his liking. Bucky turned down the offer, but when Steve's food arrived, he proceeded to steal choice morsels from Steve's plate, enough so that Steve asked the waiter to bring them another roll of utensils.
They talked, and he liked the easy way Bucky carried himself. The man was quietly accommodating, easy to talk to without putting stress on the need to converse, and if they lapsed into silence now and then, it was no big deal. Either Bucky doodled on a place mat with his pencil or spent his time arranging items on the table. He seemed to have a special fondness for arranging things by size.
Bucky worked nearby at the Hawaii Youth Correctional Facility teaching art classes. The man loved his work, but more importantly, he loved the kids, having a group of troubled kids come into his classroom and teaching them how to cope with various traumas and anger through art was something the man found extremely rewarding.
He lived with his father and sister in an old home on Maunalua Bay, and when the man allowed himself to get lost in telling stories about his family, Steve found himself enchanted by the obvious closeness between the three of them and their large and loud extended network of uncles and grandparents. Coming from a tiny family made up of himself and his mother meant he had no idea what it was like sharing such close bonds with so many different people, and he found himself fascinated.
After a while, the conversation came to a natural conclusion, but Steve was flabbergasted to glance at his watch and realize he'd spent three hours in the restaurant talking with the other man. He also realized he was reluctant to leave and never have this kind of easiness again.
“This will seem forward, and you can tell me to fuck off if I'm reading things wrong, but do you date men? I would like to ask you on a proper date.”
Bucky smiled up at him. “I was hoping you'd ask.” The man pulled a phone from a messenger bag draped across his wheelchair, and they exchanged numbers. “You should know that I'm saving you under 'Steeb.'”
“I'm saving you under 'Buckin' Bronco.'”
“Hey, now. Don't you think you should let me earn that nickname first?” Bucky's teeth sank into his full bottom lip, and he smiled around it.
Steve felt his knees go weak and a bloom of heat pool in his loins. Which was naturally when Bucky got a call and then quickly excused himself from the restaurant with an earnest goodbye and promises to call soon to set up a real date. He successfully conquered the desire to offer Bucky assistance, but the man had obviously gotten there on his own and could likely get back wherever he was going without needing to be coddled.
Still, when Bucky leaned across the table and kissed Steve's cheek, Steve wanted to cradle the spot of warmth close, to never forget what it felt like to have such lips caress his skin. He was struck stupid and almost missed the wary glances he received from the woman behind the counter.
He watched the other man drive his wheelchair up a ramp into a van where he parked and stabilized himself behind the hand controls. The last thing he saw of him was Bucky waving out the window with his damaged left arm as his van disappeared from the parking lot.
Steve melted into the backrest of his bench seat and fanned himself.
***
Going about his daily life became a test of patience as he waited for Bucky's call. Sam took to teasing him. Even the mild-mannered Luis, who seemed to spend more time at their apartment than anywhere else, wound up taking part in the game. Steve batted their insults aside in favor of lurching for his phone every time it beeped or rang. None of those times were from Bucky, and it was becoming increasingly obvious the guy had blown him off.
A week and a half later, Sam confronted him with accusations of 'sour puss' and even enlisted Jocko's help in cheering him up. Finally, he'd had enough, though, and suggested that Steve be the one to open communication between them. After all, given the nature and extent of Bucky's disabilities, he might be shy over the idea of asking out an able-bodied man like Steve.
So he finally broke down and sent a quick text message that consisted of “This is Steve. From the Hukilau. Had a great time last week and wanted to see if you wanted to get together again.”
The message he got back wasn't very encouraging. Bucky texted, “Sorry, who is this? I think you might have the wrong number.”
“Is this Bucky?” asked the next text.
“Yes.”
“We had dinner at the cafe last week and met at-- You know what, never mind. Obviously I didn't leave a very good impression. Take care, Bucky.”
“'Kay. Bye then.”
Steve's broad shoulders slumped, and he sat down next to Jocko. Not even the giant walrus would have anything to do with him, though, as he turned his attention toward preening for the lady walruses out enjoying their aquatic environment.
After a while, he left the enclosure to go about his duties, spending the afternoon with Willie, a Humboldt penguin they often used in demonstrations. Willie had the mild, curious temperament that made him suited to wandering around the park and allowing strangers to fawn over him.
Last year, he'd hated that aspect of work. Interacting comfortably with people would never be amongst his good qualities, but he'd grown accustomed to answering their questions. His boss, Hope, had put together a list of amusing facts he could relate about penguins, and he had just gotten done joking about penguins sneezing out sea water from their supraorbital gland when he saw a group of young adults at the outskirts of his audience.
They all wore shirts bearing the Hawaii Youth Correctional Facility logo and were accompanied by several adults. One happened to be Bucky, a sketch pad open on his lap that displayed rough sketches of Willie and Steve.
Steve's mouth turned down. He answered a few more questions and allowed a couple of children to interact with Willie before breaking away to approach the man. His shadow fell across Bucky, causing him to look up with a warm smile.
“Hi.” Bucky focused on his name tag. “Mr. Rogers. That was a great presentation.”
“You don't have to do this. We had dinner one time. You don't need to pretend like we've never met.”
“I'm sorry, I don't...” The other man floundered for a moment.
“Just stop. I thought we had chemistry, but it's clear whatever it was isn't enough for you. That's fine, but don't treat me like I'm fucking invisible.”
Before Bucky could respond, a woman hurried forward and inserted herself between Bucky and Steve. She was exceptionally tall and ripped with muscles. Her hair was military short, and she wore a t-shirt with the Army Reserves logo.
“Back off.”
Some part of him wanted to raise fucking hackle, because Bucky might have disabilities, but he sure as fuck didn't need a protector, but the better part managed to clamp down on his anger and take a step back. Out of respect for her service in the military more than anything else.
She crouched beside Bucky's wheelchair and settled a hand on his shoulder. “You okay, Buck?”
“Yeah, I'm perfectly fine.” He flashed a quick smile. “This guy just mistook me for someone else. For what it's worth, I'm sorry that you were hurt by someone. That's never a fun feeling.”
And Steve was back to flabbergasted.
The woman pushed to her feet and lowered her voice. “Not that you deserve an explanation, but my brother suffers anterograde amnesia from a traumatic brain injury. But you can go on acting like a gigantic ass if you so desire.”
“Sorry. Fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't know.” He retreated a few steps to take himself out of their personal space and allowed himself a moment of silence to feel like a complete ass. Then, with more sincerity and less shock, he glanced at Bucky. “I'm sorry.”
Bucky considered his apology for a moment before nodding to accept it. “Takes a special kind of person these days to admit when they're wrong and apologize. Bucky Barnes.” He extended a hand.
It was more automatic than anything else when Steve shook his hand. “Steve Rogers.”
“This is my sister, the Baconator.”
The woman scoffed and elbowed her brother's shoulder. “Rebecca Barnes.”
“There's a story there, I'm sensing,” Steve said.
“My sister once won an eating contest that involved putting away Wendy's Baconators. Dad rolled her out of the venue in an office chair afterward.”
The absurdity of the conversation coupled with Bucky's vivacious expression made Steve chuckle. Willie tugging at his lead brought his attention back to their surroundings, and he crouched in front of Bucky's wheelchair to urge Willie closer.
“Let me introduce you to our Humboldt penguin, Willie.” He carefully lifted the penguin onto Bucky's lap after Rebecca cleared it of the sketchpad and pencils.
Willie, dressed in a Hawaiian print shirt, squawked and flared his flippers, and Bucky laughed.
“Can I pet him?”
“Sure. Be mindful that you stroke with the lay of the feathers instead of against it.”
More of that barely-veiled zest for life leaked from the man when the pads of his fingers tentatively stroked along Willie's plumage. The affection caused Willie to trill. Bucky lit up even more.
They shared a long glance, Steve and Bucky, with Bucky's glance roaming over Steve's face. It ended in something akin to a shy smile and the brief touch of the man's fingertips against Steve's cheek bone before he seemed to realize that his group was moving on without him.
“Crap, I have to go. We're on a field trip with some of the kids.”
The spell broken, Steve pushed back to his feet and collected Willie. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Bucky.” He turned his attention to Rebecca with a brief nod. “Ma'am.”
He watched the pair move off trailing their tour group. A jolt of warmth pierced his stomach when Bucky turned back to look at him once more. That man's smile could warm an iceberg.