Work Text:
"Steve, this is the seventh time you've sent in a care package," Moria says as she stamps it for priority class, because there are cookies in there and Steve does not want them to go stale before they get over seas. He smiles at her a bit bashfully and she takes a pamphlet from behind the counter, "Have you considered the pen pal program?"
"Pen pals?" Steve takes the pamphlet from her, opening it up.
"You fill out the form, send it to that address," She points it out to him, "and you get assigned a soldier. You'll send letters back and forth, things like that. You can make a new friend."
Steve fills it all out right there.
Two weeks later he's got one official letter telling him he's been approved, and he'll be communicating with Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. Steve doesn't really know where to start, so he writes a letter just introducing himself.
Dear Sergeant Barnes,
My name is Steve Rogers, and I'm your new pen pal. I'm not entirely sure what I should say. Maybe I'll just introduce myself? That should be good. I'm twenty-one and I live in Brooklyn, New York. I've lived here my whole life. It's snowing right now, up to my knees. Is it okay if I ask where you lived, before you were deployed? I can check the weather for you, if you want.
I like to draw, I've done a few jobs as an illustrator from comics and things like that. Do you have any hobbies, or just things you enjoy? Music is nice, too. I wish I could play an instrument. Can you?
Your name sounds so official. That's not a bad thing, though! Do people call you Jimmy? Most people call me Rogers, but that's because they usually don't remember my first name.
I think it's really amazing that you joined up. I would have if I could, but I have too many medical problems for them to let me in. So, I send in care packages all the time instead, finding my way to help, you know? I love doing it. Even if it's just a little bit of help I'm providing... Do you need anything? I could send you something, if you want. Make me a list, I'll do it.
Thanks for reading this, and I really hope to hear from you soon.
-Steve
Steve sends it out the next day, on his walk home from a comic job. The snow soaks his jeans and gets into his boots, and he's shivering violently by the time he's closing the door of his apartment. He turns up the heat and puts the kettle on, struggling out of his boots and jeans as he does. He shoves a rice bag in the microwave and turns it on, then moves into his room to change. He really wants to curl up in bed and hide there, it's so cold.
But the kettle starts to whistle so he puts on two pairs of socks and fixes himself a cup of hot chocolate, then curls in on the couch with his rice bag over his stomach and plenty of blankets.
--
He gets a letter about a week later. He opens it in a diner over his lunch, stomach flipping excitedly. He's been waiting for this letter.
Hey Steve,
Not too sure what I should say, either. I'm damn glad you gave me questions. I live in Brooklyn, too. On the edge of the city. Miss it there, sometimes. Snow is hell sometimes, isn't it? Spent last Christmas here though, and gonna spend the next, so maybe I'm even missing that, too.
I can't draw worth shit. I'll show you, I'll draw something at the bottom. I play the piano. Well, I used to. Not much use for it over here.
And hey, just call me Bucky, okay? I hate Jimmy. And I'll call you Steve, 'cause I'll remember it.
...I haven't had chocolate in months. Don't go out of your way, but if you could chuck a candy bar in with your letter, that would be great.
It's good to meet you, Steve. Thanks.
-Bucky
Steve laughs at the little drawing down next to Bucky's signature, what he supposes is an elephant. It's horrible - so horrible, jesus - but it's also fucking adorable. Steve eats some more while he sketches out an elephant to send back.
He heads to the store and picks up two bags of chocolate chips, and the next morning he makes his famous double chocolate cookies - with chips and chunks of chocolate. He waits for them to cool by putting together the rest of the package. It's not as big as the ones he usually makes, because this one's special for Bucky.
He takes his time like he does with each and every one, laying in a soft throw blanket although he doesn't think Bucky needs it, puts in toothpaste and socks and various other things. He puts the cookies in Tupperware with tissue paper, sets it snug in between everything else in the box, and lays his enveloped letter and drawing over it.
Dear Bucky,
The snow is hell. Peggy insists that she come over and take care of me sometimes. She's afraid I'll freeze to death, or something. I wouldn't put it past my body to betray me like that though, so. Hey, don't be bummed about Christmas. I'll send you a picture of my tree when I get it up.
Your drawing wasn't bad. Really! It wasn't. It was... cute. A small, little, deformed elephant. It's nice. And I'm so jealous that you can play the piano. I bet you play beautifully.
I know you asked for just a candy bar, but I'm packing in my double chocolate cookies. That should be enough for you to get your fix, I really hope you like them.
Be careful out there.
-Steve
--
The next letter doesn't even come with a hello. And Steve is giddy about it.
You're a fucking dream, you know that? Jesus Christ, these cookies are amazing. And you made them? Goddammit, man. I'm getting crumbs all over the letter, I'm sorry.
Thank you for that, I needed it. And Steve, are you trying to show me up? A realistic drawing that totally beats out mine? Really? (...It's nice. You got some talent).
Hey, maybe I'll teach you to play piano, alright? Ain't too hard. And a picture of a Brooklyn Christmas would be nice. We have a damn Charlie Brown Christmas tree. The other troops usually get ornaments from their families, their kids if they got any. It's not too bad... What are your Christmases like, Steve?
-Bucky
Steve feels his chest flutter, and he feels good. He's made Bucky like him.
He lifts his eyes from the letter to see Peggy moving around in the kitchen. It's their dinner night - that's the official name. Steve knows it's just because she worries herself sick over him, making sure he's not frozen in ice during the winter or laid out dead on the carpet due to heatstroke in the summer. He tells her he can hold his own, and she knows, but it doesn't stop her from caring.
She smiles at him when she notices he's looking, "So, who's that from, dear?"
He gets up, running his fingers over a crinkled edge on the paper, "My pen pal, he wrote back."
"The army fellow you mentioned? Well, what did he say?" She peeks over to look as she washes off apples.
"I sent him a package, one just for him," Steve glances back down to the letter, "He liked my cookies a lot. And my drawing."
"He'd be mad not to." She dries off the apples and her hands, then rubs her thumb over his cheek.
"He's a good guy." Steve smiles, folding the letter away and setting it aside on the counter. He'll set it with the others later. He rolls up his sleeves and washes his hands, going to help her fix dinner.
"Do you know what he looks like?" She asks, moving around him to take a pan of the breaded chicken Steve put together before they met up. She puts it into the preheated oven and looks at Steve.
"Uh... No. I don't, actually. They only sent me his name and the address," Steve starts wondering. He really does. Bucky doesn't know what he looks like either. And maybe that's a good thing, Bucky doesn't have to know he's short and skinny as hell, "...Maybe I'll ask him about it."
Peggy just gives him a nod and sets down what else they need to make fruit salad.
--
Steve is actually nervous about asking Bucky what he looks like. Bucky may not want him to know. He could get mad, and stop writing to Steve. But he does want to know.
Bucky,
I'm really glad you liked everything. Just tell me when, and there will be more for you. I mean it.
Charlie Brown Christmas trees aren't that bad. I should know, I used to have one. But now I've got one that's bigger than me after Peggy told me my small one was just sad. But I will send you a picture, it all lit up. I put it up right after Thanksgiving anyway, because I'm eager. Do you get ornaments from your family... Your kids?
Christmas is good here. If kind of small. My parents both passed away a while ago, and I have a few friends. They usually come over and spend Christmas with me, or they drag me home with them. It's good it's small, since I'm anxious around large groups.
Okay so, I wanted to ask you something. You can say no! I promise, you can. I was just wondering what you looked like. I don't even know how old you are, either. Sometimes I just get to thinking, you know, what do you look like when you open my letters? I'm sorry. You don't have to give me an answer, maybe that's asking too much.
Uh, I'm sorry.
-Steve
He regrets sending it out.
He really regrets sending it out.
He tries running after the mail truck to get it back.
He has an asthma attack.
And he just panics more each day a letter doesn't arrive.
--
The letter comes two weeks later.
Steve,
Sorry this took so long, man. I had trouble finding a picture, but I got one. Sun's a bit bright, but you can see me. I can tell you about me too, since you've told me things about you.
I'm twenty-two now, and I don't have any family to write home to. My parents are gone too, and my uncle wants nothing to do with me. No wife, no kids. Just me. That sounds depressing and like I should have fourteen cats. Jesus.
I look pretty happy when I open your letters. At least, I feel that way. My unit knows your name on my letters by now, makes sure they get to me wherever I am on base. I like getting your letters, Steve. Don't ever think I don't, okay?
I've been wondering about you too, you know. You've said things that are kind of concerning. Are you sick, I mean? I hope not, obviously. You're still up and around, I know. You sent two more packages out for the base, I saw, so whatever your girlfriend's doing to keep you from not freezing is working.
Don't get sick on me, Steve.
-Bucky
P.S. Send me a picture back. Would like to see you.
Steve sets the letter down on his lap and slips his fingers back into the envelope, slowly pulling a photo out. God, there he is. The sun is setting a light glare like Bucky said, but Steve can see him clearly. It looks like someone took the picture on their down time, since Bucky's hair is a bit messy, and his shirt is missing. He's got the brightest blue eyes, and he's smiling nice and wide. He's leaned up against some rocks, book in his hands.
Steve's a little guilty that he can't keep his eyes from straying to the sweat on Bucky's stomach. His well-defined stomach. God. His first thought is how the hell is he gonna tell this guy he's gorgeous?
"Shit," Steve leans back on his couch, throwing an arm over his eyes, "Shit."
Then he's sitting straight up again. Whatever your girlfriend's doing to keep you from not freezing is working.
"Shit."
--
"Oh, he's lovely, Steve!" Peggy smiles, holding up the picture of Bucky.
"Yeah, he is." Steve says, shoulders sagging even more.
She notices immediately that he's not happy, "What is it?"
He scrubs his hands over his face, "He wants to see me, too."
She smiles, "Isn't that good?"
"Peggy," He whines, laying back against the couch, "He's not gonna like what he sees."
"He wants to see you, Steve," She says, getting up and grabbing the photo album off the bookshelf, "If he sees you, he'll be happy."
Steve sighs, picking up his notebook again, trying to write back to Bucky. He's explained that he's not sick, but he does get sick easily. And Bucky will definitely see why when he has a picture in his hands. He's also explained that Peggy's not his girlfriend. She's just always been there for him, a good friend and nothing more. And that's how it leads in to him telling Bucky he came out of the closet when he was nineteen...
My friends didn't really have a problem with it. They're really considerate. I do get beat up sometimes, though. But it's not like I didn't before... Hey, don't get your hopes up about the photo, okay? I'm not the best looking guy. But you are, if I can say that. You must have the girls all over you.
I'm really glad you're happy when you get my letters... I'm really, really happy about that. And I'm sorry about your parents. But you've got me, right? I'll keep writing to you as long as you want me to.
I promise I'll try my best to not get sick. I promise.
-Steve
Steve flinches at the picture Peggy's picked out. One of him last summer on the beach, in rolled up jeans and a white t-shirt. It's nothing too bad, but Steve feels he looks small the way he's sitting. He sends it out anyway because he feels like he'll reject them all if he looks through the album.
--
The air is suffocating to his lungs, it's so cold. It's one of those days the chill takes your brearh away. It makes him cough and take a few hearty puffs from his inhaler, but he's determined to shovel this walkway. There are other people in this apartment building that need to do things, and he can fucking do this.
Only the next time he blinks, he's in the hospital.
He tilts his head and finds Sam sitting next to him in a chair, leaning forward with his elbows on the bed. Steve lifts his hand and touches his shoulder, voice muffled by the oxygen mask over his face, "Sam?"
Sam's head whips up, looking at him, "Jesus, Steve. Hey," He takes his hand, smiling a bit, "You took a digger, man. Into some ice."
"What?" Steve reaches to try and get the mask off him, flinching at the IV stuck in his arm.
Sam moves his hands away from his face, gesturing about the mask, "You had an asthma attack, too. You can't be outside like that."
"I had to shovel the walkway." Steve protests softly, leaving the mask where it is. Sam smiles, shaking his head.
"Dude, they have people to do that."
"They weren't there."
Natasha walks into the room with a can of soda, starting to ask if Steve's alright when she sees he's awake. She slams the can down on the table, "You fucking idiot!"
"Hi, you look lovely." He smiles when Sam tries to hide a laugh.
Natasha glares at them, "You could have died! What were you thinking? It's -1 out there. You scratched up your face, when you slipped and hit your head."
"What's with the yelling? We're in a hospital." Peggy says, taking her coat off, cheeks red like she's just come in from outside. She sees Steve awake and her face brightens, "Steve."
He chuckles, which results in a slight coughing fit. He pushes the mask off his face, accepting a drink of water from a clear cup with a lid and straw. Natasha sets it down after and runs her fingers through his hair, "I'm sorry. Just stop scaring me like that. They found you freezing on the sidewalk."
"I didn't mean to, I promise. I'm sorry," He gives her a soft smile, laying his head back. The ER lights hurt his eyes and he's going to close them, maybe get some more rest until they decide to kick him out.
He listens to them settle in around him, Sam rubbing his arm soothingly. Natasha climbs on the bed with him, at the end and brings his feet into her lap. Peggy is by his other side, running her fingers carefully by the cuts and scrapes that happened when he fell.
"How long was I out?" He asks, leaning his head toward her hand.
"About an hour and a half," She tells him softly, just in case his head hurts, "I got the call from Sam at work, and got here as fast as I could."
"You didn't have to." He lets her hold the mask to his nose and mouth again, takes a few deep breaths.
"Nonsense. We love you." She says a bit fiercely, and Steve wonders sometimes why they love him.
"Hey, did any of you happen to check my mail?" He asks after a few moments, and he hears two sighs.
"You almost die and you're still thinking about him?" Peggy asks.
"I was supposed to get a letter today." He explains, opening his eyes. Sam has a look somewhere between fond and frustrated, and Natasha's pulling a stack of envelopes from her jacket pocket and tossing them on his chest.
Sam sits the bed up for him and Steve is momentarily dizzy, but looks at all the envelopes before his eyes settle on Bucky's. Then he's ripping it open and ignoring the looks he gets, unfolding the letter.
Damn it, Steve
Don't let any son of a bitch beat you up. Ever. I'll teach you a few things when I get back, you'll never get hurt again. I'll protect you, alright?
And Jesus fuck, no. Don't give me that shit. Look at those cheekbones, oh my god. You're skinny as hell, yeah, but nothing that can't be fixed with my cooking. But honestly, I'm wondering why someone hasn't picked you up already. Definitely keeping this picture, you have no say about it.
I do have some girls ask me out sometimes, but girls aren't really my thing, either. Remember my uncle I told you about? He doesn't want anything to do with me because I'm gay, too. Well, bi, I think. Some girls are nice, but I stray more towards guys, you know? I like guys, is what I'm saying. And so do you. Good.
Having you there for me... It gets me through things. One of the guys got hurt today pretty bad in a roadside shooting, so I took the shooter down. I only realized until after that I'd made myself really vulnerable and I could have easily been hit. I looked at your picture until I was okay again.
Just, keep writing to me. Okay?
And my turn on the satellite phone is coming up... You could leave me your number, if you wanted to. It'd be nice to hear your voice.
-Bucky
Steve's chest closes up and his heart rate elevates. Sam's springing up and fitting the oxygen mask on him again, "Steve?"
Peggy holds his shoulder, "What is it? Steve, sweetheart, breathe."
Steve holds the mask, squeezing his eyes shut, inhaling deep, deep breaths. Bucky could have been hit. Bucky could have went down.
"Steve, calm down." Natasha rubs his legs, concerned but commanding. Steve starts wheezing.
"Steve!" Peggy squeezes his shoulder and makes him look at her, "Breathe. Right now, in and out, with me. Don't panic."
He follows her breaths, gets handed his inhaler from his coat and breathes in deeply on that. A nurse comes in and sees the commotion, quickly taking her stethoscope and checking his lungs.
"He could have died," Steve's saying, clutching the letter, "He could have been hit."
"But he wasn't, right? He's okay?" Peggy coaxes him into calmness, and he nods. She smooths his hair back, "Then don't worry. He's okay, Steve."
"He's so stupid. Oh my god, he's so stupid," Steve doesn't want to cry, but it might happen, "God, he's too important."
Peggy smiles softly and nods, continuing to rub his hair until he's all the way calm again, "He is, Steve. He definitely is."
--
Bucky, you scared me so much. Don't ever do that again, I can't lose you.
Don't worry about me, worry about you. I've been skinny for a while, I'm not going to drop dead. I'll stay with you, of course I will. And I bet your cooking is first class, I can't wait to have some. But hey, I don't need you to protect me... Just get home safe, yeah? That's all I'm asking.
I'm honestly a little flustered that you'd think I'd have someone wanting to take me out. The few men I've been with treated me like a girl. And I hate that. Just because I'm small, doesn't mean I'm not a man. But maybe when you get back, I could do that. Take you out, I mean. On a date. Or something. I'll stop talking about it.
I really hope your guy's okay, and it's really brave that you took his shooter out. I'm proud of you, I'm so proud. I'll send out another package. And you really want to talk to me? Like, really? Okay. I'll jot my number down at the bottom.
Stay safe, I mean it. I'll be waiting by the phone.
-Steve
His hand shakes a bit when he writes his number down, and when he seals the envelope up, and when he holds it to his chest before he slides it into the mailbox.
He makes a package for the wounded soldier, with treats and medical supplies taking up most of it, and sends that out as well. Moria asks him about how his pen pal work is going, and he ends up gushing about how special Bucky is, how brave, and how Steve may be starting to fall for him.
--
It's a few days later and Steve is fresh out of the shower, quick to dry off and get dressed. It's a pretty nice day actually, the sun is out. Steve's opened a window to get the musty smell out of the apartment, and he settles himself onto his couch with his pad, tracing the lines of Bucky's hands over again. He can't help but draw him. Bucky's beautiful. He's drawn him bundled up in winter clothes, drawn him in a sweater fallen over in a pile of fall leaves. He's drawn Bucky filling in the empty side of his bed.
He wants that so much. He wants to wrap around Bucky, bring him close and just breathe with him. He doesn't want Bucky out there in the middle of danger, he wants him on his shitty couch in his shitty apartment and he wants to take him to the diner and have lunch, and play footsie under the table. He wants Bucky to kiss him so hard and genuine that Steve feels a real ache in his chest when he thinks about it.
The phone rings and he picks it up, fitting it to his ear, "Hello?" There's a bit of static on the line, and he can hear someone breathe in. Steve sits up a bit more, brows knitting, "Hello?"
"St--" the voice clears his throat, "Steve? ...Steve Rogers?"
"Yeah, this is. Who is...?" He can hear talking in the background under the static, and can hear fidgeting, someone saying 'Barnes, you gonna talk or breathe at him?!' Steve's eyes widen, pressing the phone closer against his ear, "Bucky?"
There's a hoarse laugh on the other end, "Jesus, your voice is deeper than what I expected."
Steve smiles broadly, "Bucky. Oh, my god. Hi."
"Hey, man. Sorry, I just uh, had a moment. Forget it happened. How... How are you? Tell me." Bucky says, and Steve needs a moment to not work himself into an asthma attack.
"God, I'm... I'm good. I'm really, really, really good. I had an incident a few days ago, but it's all fine. And I got hired to sketch some couples for their weddings." Steve tells him, curling up on the couch.
"An incident? Are you okay?" Bucky sounds alert, concerned and Steve wants to hold him until he stops it.
"I'm fine, I promise. I was shoveling and it was too cold... I slipped on some ice, passed out," Bucky makes a gasping noise and Steve shakes his head, "No! I'm okay! Don't do that."
"I'm just worried about you. I swear, I'm gonna put you in bubble wrap." Bucky says, and laughs at how Steve laughs.
"I would probably pop it all falling down some stairs. Keeping me close is usually safer." He tries to imagine Bucky there with him, as he sets his pad aside to tug his blanket closer around him.
"Then I'll keep you as close as possible." Then there are hoots and hollers in the background of Bucky.
"Close as possible, man!" Someone says and Bucky's telling them to shut up, "That's why you carry his picture everywhere!" There are mocked kissing noises and Bucky's grumbling, wind swirling around like he's moved outside.
Steve's whole face is red, his ears and probably down the back of his neck, too. He smiles, arm hugging around himself, "You keep my picture with you?"
Bucky chuckles softly, "I-I do. It just... You know."
"No, I don't. You should tell me." Steve bites on his smile, teasing him. But he wants to hear it.
"Because I like you, you punk." Bucky says, and Steve can tell he's smiling.
"Goddamn jerk. I like you, too." He gives back, and Bucky's laugh is the best thing in the world.
"Oh yeah? How much?" Bucky's teasing him back now, and Steve can't be anything but completely honest.
"Enough to want you next to me every night when I go to sleep."
Bucky goes quiet for a few moments, breathing a little off before he says, "Jesus, Steve. I want that, too."
"My bed's not that big, but we could fit," Steve says, and his stomach tied up in knots, his heart feeling like it might break from his chest, "We could fit, Buck."
"You're damn right about that. We will. As soon as I'm back, we'll prove it." Bucky sounds a little choked up.
"...Hey soldier, I brought my Christmas tree out of storage," Steve tells him, "I'll put a present under it for you."
"You're gonna sit under your tree for that long?" Bucky asks, and Steve barks out a laugh.
"You want me for Christmas?"
"I do want you, Steve."
Steve takes a few deep breaths, closing his eyes. He smiles up at the ceiling, "Gonna pick me up with all that charm? Take me out?"
"Nah, I'll let you take me out. We'll eat a full pie all by ourselves, get some weight on you." Bucky tells him, and Steve chuckles.
"I really love that idea." He can't get over how much Bucky cares for him.
Bucky takes a deep breath, "Me too. Listen, Steve, I gotta go... Tell me something to get me by, alright?"
Steve doesn't want him to go. He swallows, and finds himself saying, "We'll go to the movies and we'll make out in the back row. We'll get ourselves thrown out for public indecency."
Bucky chuckles, "Oh, yeah. Um, hey, I sent you something today. It's um... Don't--It's nothing big. Just something some of the other guys do, and I just thought... I got someone now, so. Just um. I'll see you later, alright?"
"Yeah, Buck. I'll be waiting." Steve thinks he should say he loves him. And Bucky hangs there for a second too, before the line goes out.
Steve dreams of Bucky, back to chest up against those rocks as Bucky reads to him.
--
The letter comes three days later. It's in an insulated envelope and it's taped so well Steve has to use scissors to get it open. He's putting them back when the tips the envelope too far and dog tags attached to a chain skid onto the counter.
Steve lifts them up delicately. They're pretty beat up, worn and even a little dented. They've got Bucky's name on them, his rank. Steve runs his fingers over the metal before checking back in the envelope, grabbing out the sliver of paper.
Now before you freak out, those are my old ones. Got issued new ones, so I'm not running around nameless or anything. Don't worry about it. These ones are for you.
There's this sort of a tradition for the troops around here. They send out their old tags to a family member, a spouse; hell, even one of the guys sends them out to his dog so they can be clipped onto her collar. So whoever's back home has a piece of them. You're not a family member, or my spouse, but you are really important to me, Steve.
It's okay if you don't want them, it's just a dumb tradition. I thought I'd give it a try now that I've got you. Whatever we are, I'm just glad I got you.
Steve swallows thickly and smiles, then slips the chain around his neck.
--
Over the next few days, Steve goes to his job at the wedding, sketches out the bride and groom. The long, elegant waves of her gown and the sharp edges of his suit. He does it during their first dance, and he thinks it captures their happiness. He gives it to them just before he leaves, and he wonders if he'll ever have a wedding that beautiful.
He plays three rounds of paintball with Sam, and the only reason he wins the last round is because he climbs a tree and waits. Sam calls him Katniss and they go out for lunch.
He writes Bucky. He keeps it short this time because he knows if he doesn't, he'll just end up rambling. He tells Bucky that he wears the tags all the time, and Natasha catches him toying with them a lot. He tells Bucky that if it's alright, he'd like to start calling him his boyfriend. Unless he prefers the term 'partner', and then goes into how that sounds like they fight crime at night. Then he veers off again in saying that probably not at night, since he'd like to keep Bucky in his bed for as long as he can. He decides not to scratch it out or start on a new piece of paper.
He then goes on to say he doesn't normally say these things, and it may be just because he feels so comfortable with Bucky. Because he likes Bucky... Because he's fallen for Bucky. He still doesn't tell him he loves him. He decides it's something he wants to say in person. So, he sends the letter out and goes to Peggy to pour out his heart to her.
She just makes him coffee and says how happy she is that Steve is happy. He ends up falling asleep on her couch, mumbling about how beautiful Bucky's voice is.
--
Steve fiddles with the tags as he waits for his breakfast, feet swinging on the stool in the diner. He's bundled up quite a bit so he doesn't get sick, the weather having turned again, bitter with flurries of snow.
It's really close to Christmas now. Steve has put up his tree and sent out a picture to Bucky, a short note saying to put it next to his bunk, think about Steve there with him. He hasn't gotten anything back yet. But it's okay, it always takes at least a few days.
It's a reoccurring thing now, Steve imagining Bucky's there with him. That they'll sit at this bar in this diner and Bucky will lay his hand on Steve's thigh, just to let him know he's there. Steve smiles, thinking about it, and continues to smile when his meal comes. He's been eating more for Bucky, and going for walks to strengthen himself up a bit. It's dangerous in winter, so Steve's always got hot coffee and his inhaler with him. Trudging through the snow has made his muscles ache, but it's a good ache if it means making Bucky smile.
The news is on from the television hanging on the wall, talking about the weather. More snow. Great, Steve thinks as he shovels over easy egg bits into his mouth. They better fucking refill the oil tank for the apartment complex before that happens.
There's another report on the health of students when they're being tested, then another on book sales based on celebrity casts. Steve looks up again as it's ending and 'BREAKING NEWS' moves across the screen. The volume is low enough that Steve can just hear it, but he can read the words 'Bombing on army base camp - reporter on the scene'.
"Hey, can you turn this up?" Steve asks the waitress, and she does, just as the camera cuts to scenes of the wreckage.
"Our reporter was originally on a different assignment when this tragedy took place. Here you can see first hand footage of the wreckage. Thankfully, it seems the bombers were inexperienced and none of our brave troops died. There are twelve confirmed severely injured." The reporter is saying and Steve watches through the reporter's dust caked camera lens, shakily taking in footage of blown up cots and medics running around. There are men being carried around on stretchers.
Steve thinks his heart stops. Because under dirt and blood - oh god there's so much blood - there's a familiar face. Steve sits up straighter and waves his hand at the waitress, "Can you go back? Just a little? Please."
She looks concerned but rewinds the broadcast until Steve tells her to stop, and Steve goes white as a sheet. It's Bucky. He can tell it's Bucky. They've got a blanket over him and it's soaked with blood on one side, and his face is pale and he looks so lifeless.
"Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Jesus Christ." Steve can't breathe. He stumbles out of his seat and towards the bathroom. People are asking him if he's alright as he pushes the bathroom door open. He falls into a stall and throws up until he's sobbing, clutching Bucky's tags in his clammy hands.
He calls Sam, all curled up in the stall, tells him he needs help. He says it over and over again, "I-I need help. I need help. Bucky's--He's... Help me. Sam, please help me."
Ten minutes later, Sam is lifting him up off that bathroom floor and making him rinse his mouth, splash water on his face. He holds Steve around the shoulders and Steve is still pale, hurting but somehow numb as he leans against him.
"Little guy okay?" the waitress asks as Sam pays for Steve's breakfast.
"His boyfriend was on that site." Sam tells her, and her face falls. Steve doesn't notice. Sam takes him out to his car and manhandles him into the passenger seat, lays a blanket from the back over him. Steve didn't realize he was still shivering.
Sam gets into the car and Steve doesn't know where they're going, and he doesn't really care. He just keeps seeing Bucky broken on that stretcher.
Sam takes him to Peggy's place. He has to almost drag Steve up the stairs, he's so zoned out, not watching where he's going. Peggy's already on the phone when they walk in.
"Yes, I know. Keep an eye out, please. Any information. Do you have his name right? Yes, again, James Barnes. B-A-R-N-E-S, yes," She's moving to Steve, taking the tags in her hand, reading off, "3-2-5-5-7-1... Steve, you look like you're going to be sick."
She holds his arm, both her and Sam leading him into the bathroom, letting him slip to the floor in front of the toilet. He leans on it and breathes, trying to keep whatever's left down.
"Please, just anything about him. Any confirmation he's alive," She's saying, and Steve starts retching again. She's tearing up, "Yes. Daddy, thank you. I've-I've got to go."
Sam rubs his back through it, and when his body stops jerking forward trying to empty his stomach, he sits back, wiping roughly at his face with his jacket sleeves. Peggy gets a cloth damp and drops to her knees beside them, pushing Steve's hands away to dab lightly at his face.
"Steve, I'm sorry. I'm sorry," She rubs gently at his eyes with the cloth, presses for a few moments at his forehead, then cleans up his mouth, "Come, let's get you comfortable."
They help him from the floor and steer him right into Peggy's room, where she rids him of his shoes, scarf and jacket. Her place is usually warmer than Steve's, so he falls into the bed easily, curls up and lets himself be tucked in. Peggy sits on the edge next to him, smooths his hair with her fingers, "Love, are you listening?"
Steve gives a little nod.
"I was on the phone with my father. He's just sent out a fax saying to be on alert for Bucky. Any news about him, and my father will call me, and I'll tell you."
"I saw him. There was blood." Steve says brokenly.
Peggy takes a moment, blinking back her own tears at seeing Steve so wrecked. She clears her throat, "I know. I saw, too."
"I couldn't reach Nat. I think she's in the ring, so I'll try her later." Sam says, and Peggy shakes her head.
"Let her finish her shift. Steve needs rest anyway," She stands, but leans down and kisses Steve's hair, "If you need anything, we are right outside this door. You yell for us, understand?"
Steve nods absently, closing his eyes. They leave him then, Peggy shutting the door softly behind her. Steve breathes, holds Bucky's tags in his hands and tries to imagine himself back in his dream, up against those rocks with Bucky. His voice would be soothing and Steve would touch his hair, smile because he's happy. And every once in a while Bucky would pause in reading to lean his head back and place a few kisses on Steve's neck. That's all he wants.
God, that's all he wants.
--
Steve wakes up feeling worn and heavy. He feels off balance when he gets up, pulling his sweater tighter around his body. Bucky's tags click softly as he does it and Steve feels like there's a black hole in his chest.
He opens the bedroom door slowly, letting it creak softly. There's a light chatter coming from the living room, the television being left on. Steve moves into the hallway, passing Peggy's spare room that she's turned into her office. She reads and approves or denies novels from being published. She has her socked feet up on her wide seated chair, something she can fit two of her on; a gift from her father. She doesn't notice him, and he doesn't get her attention.
He moves along, into the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror. He's a fucking mess, if he's honest with himself. He's a mess and his stomach is starting to hurt from being hungry, but he doesn't feel like eating. He turns on the sink and pushes his sleeves up, running his hands under the hot water. He lets himself stay there, imagining if Bucky was there, coming up behind him to hug him tight.
Steve feels that familiar lump of a sob in his throat and leans over the counter, taking a deep breath. He presses his wet hands to his face and breathes in again. He thinks back to that night on the phone, when they both lingered for too long there at the end. Steve should have told him. He should have told Bucky he loved him, because now he could die not knowing it.
He tries not to think about it, and focuses on the sound of the television for a few moments.
"We have updates on the base camp that was attacked early yesterday morning. There are teams starting to clean the wreckage, salvage what items they can. There are currently only three troops in a critical care unit and under close observation for various injuries. The terrorists have be apprehended and face conviction." the reporter's voice is muffled but Steve hears it. None dead. No body count. Just very intensive care.
Steve laughs through a sob, because that's the best news he's heard. That doesn't mean Bucky couldn't be in a coma or still quickly losing blood, but there are doctors taking care of him. People are there when Steve can't be, and that's okay for now.
"Steve?" Peggy's voice comes from down the hall, then her soft footsteps follow. She finds him, and sets her hand on his shoulder carefully, "Are you alright?"
"Yeah," Steve takes his hands from his face, looking up at her, "Peggy, he's not dead."
"Did someone call?" She looks alert, like she was too wrapped up in her book to hear the phone ring.
"No, they said on the news there's three soldiers in a critical care unit, but that's it. Bucky could be okay."
"Yes, that is definitely the case," She says, happy to see him hopeful, "He's probably propped up in a hospital bed thinking about you."
Steve breaks into a smile, "You think so?"
"Oh yes, I think so," She smiles back, then beckons him to follow her, "You know what else I think? That he'd think it blasphemous that you haven't had your breakfast."
He follows her like it's his job.
--
Natasha protests heavily. So heavily, she backs up against Peggy's door and won't let Steve out of it, "No. I don't think you should be on your own for at least a few more days. You can stay here, or one of us can stay with you."
"Natasha, I'm not a kid. I'm... I'm okay for the moment. I'm a grown man and I'm okay. I've gotta get home and turn on my heat, shower, change. Sam will drive me home, if that makes you feel better." Steve says, adjusting his scarf. He does feel okay. Moderately. Bucky's not dead, that's the main thing right now. He's going to go home and do all the things he says, and write Bucky another letter, and make another package.
Natasha relaxes a little against the door, "I know you're not a kid, Steve. But I worry about you."
"It's okay," He nods, gently takes her wrist to lead her away from the door. He gives her a smile, "You can text me later to see if I'm still okay."
Natasha nods, then wraps him in a hug. It's sort of surprising. They don't have that kind of relationship, really. It's more tough love, and yelling, and then comforting. It's straightforward. But he loops his arms around her and rubs her back. She sighs, "Be okay, or I'll slap the shit out of you."
Steve smiles against her shoulder, "Yeah, okay."
She lets go of him and smiles, lets him and Sam leave without any further hesitance. They get out to his car and Sam lays the blanket over him again, and he doesn't say anything about it, because he is genuinely cold. Sam turns on the radio as they make their way back to his apartment, and it's good. It's okay. Sam doesn't press about things, and that's nice. He's one of the best friends Steve has ever had.
When they stop at the walkway heading up to Steve's apartment, Sam looks over at him, "Want me to help you settle back in?"
"No, I got it," Steve hefts the blanket back into the back seat, "Thank you, though. A lot."
Sam nods and Steve gets out, pulls his scarf up higher over his face and shuffles as quickly as he can into his apartment after he unlocks the door. It's freezing inside but the first thing he does is turn on the heat, listens to the heaters crackle to life.
He finds himself something to wear for when he gets out of the shower and checks the news for any other updates, then finally gets into the shower. The water feels good immediately and Steve lets his eyes shut, lets the ache in his shoulders die out under the pound of the water. He's fiddling with Bucky's tags again. It's like a calming mechanism, and he smiles when he realizes Bucky was right; he does feel like he has a piece of Bucky here, with him. He doesn't think he'll ever take them off.
Once he's clean, he spends at least another fifteen minutes just standing there, just staying in that warm, relaxing daze he's got going. It's good and when his legs start to hurt, he gets out, dries off and bundles up again. The apartment is significantly warmer than it was when he got in, and he's thankful for that. He settles himself in bed and leaves the television on the news, and grabs his sketchpad from the floor.
He tries his best not to get upset, outlines the curve of Bucky's mouth, the jut of his jaw, the adorable little dip in his chin. Steve doesn't realize he's got this smile tugging at his lips, but he does, and he bites down on it when he concentrates on drawing a hat with Bucky's hair sticking out of it adorably. Natasha texts him later as he's shading in some parts.
From: Nat Get some rest, okay?
Steve lays his pad and pencil aside just as he's done reading it, snuggling down more into bed.
Sent: Roger that.
From: Nat Very funny.
Steve thinks he's kinda funny.
He dreams of Bucky again that night. They're on Steve's couch and it's so vivid, Steve can feel the sweat building on his bare skin from the summer heat. He can feel Bucky's strong thighs that are bracketed by his own, and his hands running up Bucky's stomach, his skin warm and soft under his fingertips, muscles bunching where his fingers roam.
And then Bucky's kissing him and his mouth feels so real, so soft. Steve melts into it, presses his chest to Bucky's, curves his back when Bucky's hands drag up there. Steve lays himself over Bucky and files his hands through his hair, pushes it back and fusses with it for fun.
He wakes up to the ghost of the feel of Bucky's chest to his. He wants to go back to sleep, go back to that dream. But he doesn't. Instead he gets up and gets dressed, makes himself a breakfast sandwich and checks the mail while he waits for it to cool.
A check from his last comic job, junk mail, coupons, and a letter from a Clint Barton. He doesn't know any Clint, but it's from an over seas address. He takes a big bite of his sandwich and opens it up.
I'm writing this letter on behalf of Sergeant James 'Bucky' Barnes.
Steve's stomach twists.
He asked me to write this letter if he was ever hurt, killed, or deemed missing in action. I'm thanking whatever deities that I don't have to tell you he's dead. He's been wounded, pretty heavily, and was air lifted to a hospital. Let me tell you what happened.
We're on the special operations team together, and we had a mission to check in with the locals. We had been bringing supplies to families in a village close to base at the usual time, so the bombers knew we were coming. They strapped one to our vehicle, and one on another that was heading back to camp. I'm still fucking pissed I missed them. But thankfully, we were all outside of the Jeep when the bomb went off. But Bucky was the closest. He'd pushed some guys out of the way, saved them from getting crushed or burnt up.
The blast threw me back into some rocks and got myself a concussion, passed out. When I came to, I saw the wreckage. The blast had knocked the Jeep pretty much apart, but what was left of it had turned over, collapsed and pinned Bucky's arm, messed him up pretty bad.
I won't go into the details but the team got it off him, called in for reinforcement. They lifted him away while the rest of us were driven back to camp for medical attention. He was in rough shape the last time I saw him, but I'm told that he's now stable, and he was about to go in for his second surgery.
If it makes you feel any better, the last words he said to me were your name and "safe". I don't have anything else to tell you, but I hope this put you at ease.
Sincerely,
Commander Clint Barton
Steve wipes at his eyes, shuddering at the images his brain supplies. He sits there are reads it over and over again, watery eyes blocking his view. He doesn't call anyone straight away. He lets the information set in, reviews it: Bucky was hurt, Bucky was air lifted to a hospital, Bucky's stable, Bucky's having surgeries, Bucky's alive. Bucky thought of Steve when he was hurt.
Steve smiles shakily and rubs at his eyes again, before sliding from his seat and taking down the photo propped up by the box he keeps Bucky's letters in. He runs his thumb over it, looking over Bucky's smiling face. He's happy to know that smile is still in the world, if a little broken right now.
--
Steve gets a call in the dead of night two weeks later. He answers groggily, already starting to settle back into sleep.
"Steve, I've gotten a call from my father. They've taken Bucky from the intensive care unit, and they're sending him to Coney Island Hospital. Tonight." Peggy's telling him, and Steve's whole body jerks.
"Tonight?" Steve sits up, dizzy for a few moments.
"Yes, sweetheart. I've been told they've already put him in the air." She says, a smile evident in her voice.
Steve huffs out a laugh and gets up, finding clothes, "I'll go then. Maybe they have a room set up. Maybe I can wait for him."
"Do you need me to come with you?" She asks.
"No. No, I need... I need to do this alone," Steve smiles softly as he thinks of the next words, "Me and Bucky."
"Yes, you and Bucky." She says, and Steve loves that. He ends his call in favor of tugging on clothes haphazardly, pulling himself together quickly. Bucky needs him.
--
He has a bit of trouble getting into Bucky's room since he's not there yet, but he is let in, maybe because a nurse sees his desperation.
There's no bed in the room, but there is a chair, which Steve will seat himself in. He's brought two small blankets with him, one for him and one for Bucky. Unless Bucky gets cold, then he can have both of them. He takes off his jacket and scarf, lays them on the back of the chair before laying Bucky's blanket over it. He settles his sketchpad on the table next to the chair.
He sits, drapes his own blanket over his lap, and waits. All the waiting makes him anxious, makes his knee jiggle and his hands fidget. His fingers find the tags and he lays his head back, closing his eyes for just a moment.
His moment actually ends up being a few hours when he wakes to sudden noise. Nurses are pulling a bed into the room and Steve's immediately sitting up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes hastily.
They get the bed in the room, turn it so it fits right where it's supposed to, and locks it in place. Steve looks around them, letting them fuss with hooking everything they need to up, and a smile breaks over his lips.
"Is he alright?" Steve asks, feeling slightly out of breath as he stands from the chair, moves to the side of the bed. Bucky's face is pale, and there's gauze taped up on his forehead, on the left side. There are harsh, deep colored bruises on one cheekbone, his neck, other various cuts and nicks everywhere else. He's burned in a few places too, some of his hair sizzled short. He's wrapped tightly in blankets. But god, he's the most beautiful thing Steve has ever seen.
"We have him sedated so he could sleep, and he's healing slowly," a nurse tells him, plugging him into the heart monitor and adjusting his IV. She looks at Steve then, "Are you his...?"
"Yes." Steve says immediately, even though he doesn't know what she's really referring to, reaching with a shaking hand to smooth Bucky's unruly hair. She nods and checks Bucky over again, then lets them be.
Steve doesn't know what to do with himself now that he's here. He's finally sitting here with Bucky. He takes a deep breath and smiles, moves over and grabs Bucky's blanket, laying it across the ones already over him.
He tugs the chair closer to the side of the bed. He needs to be as close as he can. He shuts off the room's lights before sitting back down, biting his lip before giving in and slipping his hand under the blankets, hand sneaking under Bucky's, care to not disturb the IV. The time on his watch says three twenty-three and Steve sighs, lays his head down on his arm.
"Oh, Buck," He whispers sleepily, listening to the heart monitor give a steady beep-beep for every heart beat, "This isn't what I meant when I said 'I want to get you in bed'."
--
Steve wakes slowly, humming at the delicate running of fingers through his hair. It makes him lean for more of that touch, and he hears a soft chuckle from above him. Steve smiles rubs at one of his eyes. The realization of where he is seeps in and he's whipping his head up, eyes meeting Bucky's smile.
"Bucky. Oh, my god." He feels glued to his spot, Bucky's fond, sleepy look holding him there.
"Steve," Bucky smiles, hand weakly reaching up to try and touch him again. He's not strong enough so Steve holds his hand, helps him set it to his cheek. Bucky's thumb rubs softly at his skin, "Wow. Hi."
"Hi," Steve feels happy tears prickling at his eyes, "Do you know where you are?"
Bucky nods softly, "Coney Island," He's quiet for a moment, drugged, then grins, "Hey, you wanna go ride the Cyclone?"
Steve chuckles, "I might throw up."
"Nah," He shakes his head a bit, eyes drooping, "You'll be just fine."
"Then, maybe we'll go." Steve tells him.
"On a date," Bucky adds. His hand is trembling and whatever drugs they've got him on are definitely keeping him relaxed, because he's trying to be active with Steve, he's trying to touch him. Bucky looks him over for the longest time, and the pad of his thumb brushes Steve's bottom lip. His words slur, "You are so pretty."
Steve smiles, stomach fluttering, "Bucky."
"You are. You are," Bucky's nodding, eyes starting to drift closed. He touches Steve's jaw and Steve kisses the palm of his hand before he settles it back onto the bed. Bucky smiles, so out of it, "I love you."
Steve's heart pounds, but he just holds his hand, smiles softly, "Get some sleep, Buck."
"Mm." Bucky grunts softly, laying his head to the side. After a few moments his breathing is soft and even, and Steve feels like everything is okay.
When the nurse checks in, Steve tells her that he was awake, but drowsy. She says it's the side-effect of the sedatives and pain medication, and that next time he wakes up to come and get her, to see if they can get him to drink something. And then the nurse that let him in last night pokes her head in, and gives him a tray of food from the cafeteria, because she was worried when he didn't leave the room all night for anything.
Steve eats and watches Bucky, watches people bring in a bag of items Bucky had on him when they had to cut him out of his clothes. Steve wishes he'd brought him clothes, but he's sure none of his would fit Bucky. The gown they've got him in is enough for now.
Steve calls Peggy and talks with her, smiles stupidly because he's holding Bucky's hand. He can do that now, that's a thing that happens. He tells her about how well his heartbeat is doing, how he's banged up but he'll be alright.
About an hour after that when Steve is coming back from the bathroom, he walks in on Bucky's doctor talking with him. Bucky looks more alert and he smiles when he sees Steve, "Doc, this is my boyfriend, Steve."
Steve blushes and shakes the man's hand, then settles in his seat. Bucky waves his hand towards him and Steve scoots closer, holds his hand again.
"As I was saying," the doctor smiles, fingers hovering over Bucky's shoulder, "We took the bad pieces away, cleaned out what shattered when the initial impact took place."
"Shattered?" Steve interrupts, concern flooding his entire body. Bucky squeezes his hand lightly.
"The bone." the doctor says, and Steve looks up at Bucky.
"Don't look like that," Bucky says, reaching up to touch his face. He still needs a bit of help with it, "You can go if you want to."
"I'm not going anywhere." Steve tells him like he's offended by the very idea of leaving Bucky alone. And he is.
Bucky smiles softly, then looks back up to the doctor, "Alright. I can't feel it, so just tell me straight... Did you take it?"
"Not all of it," the doctor promises, hand going for the tucked in covers on Bucky's left side, "Would you like to see?"
Bucky's heart rate elevates on the monitor, and he rubs his thumb over Steve's cheekbone. His face goes hard, "I can take it."
The doctor waits a few moments for Bucky to back out if he wants to, but when nothing comes, he undoes the bedding and gently lifts Bucky's left arm into view. It's only there down to about his elbow, and bandaged heavily. Bucky starts taking very deep breaths, pressing his head back against the pillows.
Bucky's doctor sets a hand on his shoulder, "James, I'm going to need you to calm down."
Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his teeth, muttering 'son of a bitch' again and again, and his hand drops from Steve's face.
Steve should have put it together before; the blood on one side from the news broadcast, Commander Barton telling him the Jeep collapsed on Bucky's arm. He should have known.
"You really need to calm down or I'll have to have you sedated again. You have to relax or you could really hurt yourself. James." his doctor is saying and Bucky's laying his hand over his face, breathing roughly.
"You should have warned him." Steve's standing up and trying to think about the best way to go about calming Bucky down.
"I did." the doctor says, going to get a sedative.
"You should have done it better," Steve tells him with a sharp protectiveness in his voice, then wraps his fingers around Bucky's wrist, "Bucky. Bucky, look at me,"
Bucky shakes his head and Steve knows he's starting to cry. Steve runs his fingers through Bucky's hair, "They're going to put you out again if you don't calm down. Let me help. Let me help you,"
Bucky sobs and Steve pushes himself up onto the bed, tugs Bucky's arm away from his face in favor of letting him hide it in his shirt. The doctor is coming back over with a needle and Steve raises a hand, "No. He can do this," He rubs his fingers over the back of Bucky's neck, "Bucky, breathe. Deep in, hold it, then let it out,"
Bucky grips around Steve's middle and hauls him close. It isn't very powerful but Steve's teetering there on his knees, so he's easy to push over. He brings his knees to the side of Bucky, sits there facing the wall with his body sandwiched between Bucky and the side rail. Bucky's shaking leaning up to be able to hide and Steve leans down so he can lay back and do it.
He lowers his voice and kisses his head, "Bucky...It'd make me the happiest guy in the world if you took some deep breaths." After a few painstaking moments, he hears Bucky inhale deeply, if very shakily, and hold it. Steve closes his eyes out of relief, "Now out."
Bucky blows out the breath against Steve's shirt. Steve coaxes him through these breaths until they're no longer shaking, until the arm around Steve's waist is relaxed, until Bucky pulls back with red eyes.
"I'm fine," And he sounds fine enough that the doctor only gives him some more pain medicine, and some for nausea, and refills his IV fluids. Steve stays in his place the whole time and lets people work around him, because he's afraid Bucky will panic if he moves.
When they're left alone again, it's silent for a long time. Steve's back hurts from staying like this and his fingers are still toying with Bucky's hair. Bucky looks up at him with a broken expression, "You're wearing the tags."
"'Course I am," Steve quirks his lips up just so, "You gave them to me."
"I-I didn't think you'd..." Bucky nods at them then averts his eyes.
Steve gently takes his jaw, tilting it up, "I want them. I want who belongs to them, too. Boyfriend, right?"
Bucky smiles bitterly, "Even now?"
"Especially now. I've got you here with me," Steve bypasses what he really means. Bucky thinks Steve won't want him now that he's lost a limb. Steve is sad for Bucky, not for himself. He rubs his thumb over Bucky's ridiculous chin and his ridiculous beard, "Just in time for Christmas. You're a fuckin' dream, you know that?"
Bucky tries not to falter, but ends up closing his eyes and grinning, "I remember writing that down."
Steve smiles, dragging the pad of his thumb over his cheek, "Yeah. And I remember you also writing that I'm pretty important to you."
Bucky bites his lip while he smiles, "Yeah, and you said you'll be waiting for me."
Steve licks his lips, leans down a little more, watching Bucky's eyes move under his lids, "You said you wanted me."
Bucky swallows, tilting his chin up, "You said we'd make out in the back row of a movie theater."
"Should have said I love you."
Bucky's eyes shoot open, round and surprised. Steve smiles softly, a little blush rising to his cheeks. Bucky's dart all over his face and then he's leaning up, "You little shit."
His mouth is soft and Steve fumbles a bit with it while he's laughing, but presses back, kisses Bucky from eager into these almost lazy, open-mouthed kisses. Steve was never one to go ahead and claim, and bite and press. He always took his time, and no one ever liked that. Bucky's whole body relaxes under him. Bucky likes that.
Steve feels a little lightheaded when he pulls back, pulls up, takes a breath. Bucky tries grabbing for him, "Don't go anywhere."
Steve considers things for a moment, "What if I took off my shoes and made myself some room next to you?"
Bucky's trying to wiggle himself over to the left side of the bed, but he's not strong enough for that. He ends up just weakly moving his legs. Steve lays a hand on his stomach and gets off the bed, toes off his shoes. He tucks Bucky in and makes sure they're not going to obstruct any wires or machines, and Steve crawls back in. Into the curve of Bucky's outstretched arm, he - for the first time ever - thanks his skinny frame because he can just fit in, pressed up carefully against Bucky's side.
Bucky lays his hand over Steve's shoulder, feels Steve's warmth the longer he stays there. He lets himself relax, listens to Steve's breathing until he thinks he's asleep. He smiles softly, "Love you, too."
"Knew it." Steve's reply comes sleepy, muffled and said like an astounding revelation less than a moment later, and Bucky laughs.
--
"I-I should have pulled myself together better," Bucky's blabbering, leaned over the fancy sink of this bathroom, hand gripping the edge for leverage, "Shoulda done my hair better. Is my tie straight?"
Steve's panting softly behind him, holding his hips tight as he rocks his own into Bucky again, "You look beautiful, Buck."
Bucky groans all pretty and breathy how Steve likes, sharply pressing his hips back. His voice sounds so innocent though, genuinely concerned about his appearance, "Yeah? Really?"
"You always look good." Steve promises, leaning close to kiss him. The angle is wrong and they're both panting too much, but Bucky's tongue dips forward, catches Steve's while they're pulling away.
"You're so good to me, Steve." Bucky says, looking forward again to see Steve in the mirror, hair falling in his eyes, cheeks red as he works himself in and out Bucky, rubbing him in all the right ways.
"Because I love you," Steve runs his hands forward, pressing one to Bucky's chest to hold him close, other going down to stroke him quick and tight, "Are you ready to come?"
Bucky nods, rocking back and forth, onto Steve and into his hand. Bucky moves his arm to lay over the faucet, resting his head as he starts to come apart, "S-Steve. Steve, just like that. I-I'm--" He starts shaking, panting louder, making a broken noise as he starts spilling into Steve's hand, "Fucking hell. Fuck, ah! Keep going, keep going."
Steve pumps his hips as Bucky rides it out, gasping and groaning brokenly and quiet as he comes. Bucky looks back at him, taking some deep breaths, "You good? Don't start wheezing on me now, baby."
Steve picks his head up, "M'good."
He gently pulls out of Bucky, slips off and disposes of the condom. Bucky straightens slowly, obscenely when he moves his hips back and forth before straightening his back. He rights his pants and turns on the sink for Steve, fixes up Steve's pants for him.
Steve dries his hands and watches Bucky smooth his jacket, make sure his belt is straight, that nothing's wrinkled. He comes over and turns Bucky toward him, fiddling with his uniform, "I meant it, Bucky. You look good."
"It's just that my whole unit's out there, I gotta show 'em I clean up nice." Bucky tells him. He was nervous about this, about the ceremony, so Steve had pulled him into the bathroom and kissed him, soothed him, made love to him.
"You clean up very nice. Best guy in town." Steve smiles up at him, then concentrates on evening out Bucky's left shirt and jacket sleeves. They've folded them both up, and Bucky was adamant about making sure the cuff links showed. The sleeves aren't up enough that they show his arm, because that's just how he likes it when he wears his uniform now. Steve takes his hat, gives it to him, "I love you."
"And you gotta know I love you back," Bucky grins, leans down, "Gimme a kiss."
Steve chuckles, slides their mouths together and doesn't let himself get distracted by Bucky's tongue. He pulls back and takes Bucky's hand, "Alright, enough. Come on, you gotta get on that stage."
Bucky is given an honorable discharge, tells his commanding officer that they better hand over his sniper rifle to someone good. He's given awards, which he doesn't think he deserves, but stands at attention and accepts them with thanks. He falters a bit when they surprise him with the purple heart, and Steve sees him breathing a bit harshly.
After Bucky gets down from that stage, he goes right for Steve, stands close by him. Steve sets a hand on his chest, sees how overwhelmed he is, "At ease, soldier."
Bucky exhales and rests his forehead against Steve's, closes his eyes. Steve rubs his chest, looks at all the pins they've put on him. Bucky swallows, "Don't you dare treat me any different."
"Not a chance, Buckybear." Steve promises, punching him lightly in the chest.
Bucky laughs, "I fucking hate that."
"I know." Steve grins.
--
Bucky lays himself into Steve's bed for the first time, hair still wet from his shower. Steve's still toweling off his own hair, smiling stupidly at Bucky finally taking up space in his bed. He tosses his towel into the hamper and moves over to the bed, crawling in behind him.
It takes a moment or two for them to situate into something comfortable. But the moment Bucky bends his knees, curls up just a bit, and Steve slips his arm under Bucky's head, other possessive around his waist, it's perfect. Bucky melts into the feel of Steve curved around him, bare chest against his cotton covered back.
"We fit, Steve. It's true." Bucky's closing his eyes, pressing his smile to Steve's arm, kissing him there.
"I knew we would. We fit together everywhere else." Steve hugs Bucky closer to him, kissing the back of his neck. This has been all he's wanted for a very long time, and he's come to realize Bucky really wanted it too, and now Steve has everything he's ever wanted.