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I am no one special. Just a common man with common thoughts. I have not, however, led a common life. There are monuments dedicated to me, and my name will not soon be forgotten. But there is only one respect in which I believe I've succeeded more gloriously than anyone who has ever lived. I have loved another with all my heart and soul for almost a century, and for me, that has always been enough. - Steve Rogers
James stands at the window, his face vacant and slack while he looks out over the ocean. The early morning sunlight glints off the water, and waves of liquid gold crash upon the sand.
They've asked him to step outside. It's a beautiful day they say, and he should be out, take in some fresh air.
"No," he answers, shaking his head softly. He isn't sure why he declines, because the beach outside his window is lovely, and it beckons to him. If he closes his eyes, he can feel the sun on his shoulders, the sand between his toes, and a small, warm hand in his own.
"Hello," comes a voice from over his shoulder. James doesn't turn around.
"James," says the nurse who brought him his breakfast. "This is the Captain, he's here to read to you."
"Read to me? I... I don't know..," he answers, in a voice rusty with disuse.
"I'm happy to do it. Really." And now James has to turn, because that voice causes a flutter in his chest, and he isn't sure why.
There's a man standing in the doorway. He's tall, with golden blond hair the color of wheat brushed away from his face. His eyes are blue as a summer sky, and his pink lips are quirked into a crooked, shy, smile. He is breathtakingly beautiful, and James has the sudden urge to reach out and touch his face.
"Ok, then," he hears himself answer from far away.
The man called the Captain walks to a small table near the window, and pulls out a chair, gesturing for James to take a seat. With a raised eyebrow, James moves to the chair, and lowers himself gingerly into it. "Thanks," he whispers, as he watches the man take the seat opposite his.
The Captain pulls out a battered notebook, and opens it, angling it so that only he can see what is contained on the page. He clears his throat and begins to read, his voice steady and sure, and James finds himself mesmerized.
The summer of 1925 was a hot one, and it was on one particularly steamy day that they met. Bucky was eight years old, and without a care in the world until he walked by that alley and saw a scrawny, short, little boy go down under the strength of a larger boy's fist.
He thought about walking past. His mother had always told him not to go looking for trouble, because it did a good enough job of finding him all on its own. Except the small boy refused to stay down, and as he climbed slowly to his feet, Bucky could see blood as it dripped from a split lip. More than that though, it was the fire in a set of bright blue eyes that drew him in. A fire like that, he thought, should never be allowed to burn out.
"You leave him alone! Can't you see he's just a little kid?" Bucky cried indignantly. It didn't take long. Bucky was big for his age, and knew a thing or two about fighting. Only a matter of minutes later, he was kneeling in the dirt beside the little boy who didn't know when to run away from a fight. "You can call me Bucky. What's your name?"
"Steve Rogers," the other child answered as Bucky helped him get to his feet, dusting off his clothing roughly. Steve held his hand out, and Bucky didn't hesitate for a moment before taking it and shaking.
Neither boy knew it then, but their lives would be forever intertwined from that day forward.
"So they became best friends, then?" James asks.
"Yes, they did," answers the Captain with a smile.
"Good," James hears himself answer. "That Steve sure needed a friend, I bet."
"Yeah, I guess he did," the Captain tells him, his eyes shining.
"I like this kind of story, I think. Go on," says James as he nods his head at the Captain. He does actually want to hear the rest, and he's curious what kind of trouble those boys are going to get themselves into.
After that day, Steve and Bucky spent every waking hour together. And soon they were inseparable.
One day, a few weeks after they had first met, Bucky was waiting out in the street for his friend. Hours passed, and still he waited for Steve. Bucky was starting to get worried. He knew Steve lived in the same building, on the floor above his own.
Having made up his mind, Bucky took the stairs two at a time, and pounded on the door to the apartment Steve lived in with his mother. He waited as patiently as he could for a few moments, but no one came to let him in. Pressing his ear to the door, Bucky could hear the sounds of wracking coughs inside.
Hesitantly, Bucky pushed on the door. It opened before him unexpectedly. "Stevie? You here, pal?"
"Who is it?" came a woman's voice, and a moment later, a pretty, blond lady was bustling into the living room. "I'm Sarah Rogers. Are you looking for my son?" she asked Bucky kindly.
"Yes, ma'am. I'm Bucky, and Steve's my best pal."
"Well, honey, Steve isn't feeling very well today, and I'm not sure he's up for visitors. Besides, your mother might be cross with me if I let you see him, and you end up catching his cold."
Bucky's heart sank when he heard he wouldn't be able to see Steve. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I don't want to bother him if it'll make him worse, but I really need to see him. And you don't have to worry about my momma gettin' upset with you. I never get sick. You can ask her, she'll tell you I'm healthy as a horse."
Sarah Rogers looked down at the dark haired child in front of her, the worry almost as strong in his eyes as it was in her own. Relenting, she nodded her head. "All right, no need to apologize. Follow me, Steve's in the bedroom."
The sight that greeted Bucky was a frightening one for a child of eight, who had yet to have any significant experience with illness in someone close to him. His best friend lay on the bed, looking tiny and frail as he struggled for breath. It was a sight most children would have wanted to run and hide from, but not Bucky. Without a moment's hesitation, he crossed the room and dropped to his knees beside Steve's bed.
"Stevie, it's me Bucky. You're gonna be okay, pal. I promise."
"Bucky?" Steve croaked as he blinked up at the face in front of his own.
"Yeah, it's me all right. I'm gonna stay right here with you, and make sure you get to feelin' better soon."
"You're here," Steve whispered as his eyes fell shut again. "I feel better already."
It was an improbable friendship. Bucky was strong, and full of vitality and health. Steve was small, weak and underfed.
Bucky had the world at his feet, while Steve didn't know if he'd live through the next winter. But despite their differences, they had one thing in common. They were utterly devoted to one another.
The Captain clears his throat, and closes the notebook. James sighs, long and heavy, before chancing a glance at the Captain. The man's blue eyes are wet, and James wonders idly if the boys in this story mean something to the other man. "If you want to stop, you can," he says gruffly, as he hopes fervently that the Captain will continue.
"Do you want me to?"
Shaking his head, James gestures with his hand toward the notebook once more. He is grateful when the man opens it to begin again.
Over the years, the boys friendship and closeness grew. Wherever Steve went, people could be sure Bucky wasn't far behind, except when he was off chasing some skirt. Bucky always tried to drag Steve along on his dates, set him up with his latest gal's friend. But the dames, it would seem, didn't find Steve to be as special as Bucky did. He never understood it. Why couldn't they see what they had right in front of them? The nights invariably ended with Steve going home early, and Bucky behind the building with one of the girls, who were always more than willing to give Bucky what they thought he wanted. When really, all he wanted, was to be going home with Steve.
As it would turn out, the day they met would not be the last time Bucky stepped in to save Steve from a beating. For all that he was small and sickly, Steve just couldn't stand to see anyone being picked on or treated unfairly. He felt it was his duty to speak out against those kinds of injustices, and so Bucky felt it was his duty to have Steve's back.
Every time Bucky wound up with a black eye and busted knuckles from defending his smaller friend, Steve would rub a salve over the wounds, wrap his hands in gauze for him. If either boy noticed the way they other held his breath when their skin touched, they never said a word about it.
Bucky was there for Steve when Sarah Rogers passed away a month before the younger boy turned twenty three. They huddled close enough at the funeral that the backs of their hands brushed against each other's. Later that day, after the young men made the trek back to Steve's apartment, now empty of the life and warmth that was Mrs. Rogers, Bucky pleaded with Steve to come home with him. Naturally, the younger boy refused. Never one to want to appear weak, Steve insisted he could get by on his own.
"The thing is," Bucky said as he laid a hand on Steve's thin shoulder, "you don't have to. I'm with you 'til the end of the line, pal."
But if Steve wouldn't go to Bucky, then Bucky would go to Steve. He showed up that night, a battered, old, suitcase hanging from his hand, and made himself at home. Steve was sitting at his kitchen table, sketchbook in front of him, pencil moving over the paper and tears streaming from his eyes.
"I can't seem to get her eyes right, Buck. I mean, I know what they looked like, and I keep trying, but it's just not working!" The young man ripped the page from the sketchbook savagely, balling it up and tossing it across the room. He sobbed openly then, his breath coming in ragged, choked gasps.
"Stevie..." Bucky breathed. He didn't remember crossing the floor, but he must have, because he was standing right in front of his friend. He pulled Steve up and out of the chair and wrapped his arms around him. The younger man resisted for a moment, but then Bucky felt skinny arms encirlce his waist, and Steve's face was pressed against his chest.
Bucky's large hands stroked Steve's back soothingly, and he whispered softly to him the entire time he held him, reminding the frail young man to breathe. Steve struggled to match his breaths to Bucky's, his ear pressed over his friend's heart. The sound of its sure, steady beat calmed him, and kept him grounded.
When his sobs quieted and exhaustion had set in, Bucky wiped Steve's tears away, first with his thumbs, and then with his lips. If Sarah Rogers' death had taught him anything, it was that time was not his friend. He would waste no more of it pretending he wasn't in head over feet in love with the small, brave boy in front of him. Steve didn't shove him away, but he didn't try and kiss Bucky back either.
It was only when Steve's knees almost gave out that Bucky remembered how tired his friend was. "You need to get some rest," he said softly, and then he lifted Steve up in his arms and carried him to the bedroom. Gently, he laid the still trembling body on the thin mattress and pulled the threadbare blankets over Steve. He leaned down and brushed the damp hair back from his best friend's forehead and murmured, "Goodnight, Stevie."
As Bucky turned to go, he felt bony fingers tighten around his wrist and a small voice breathed, "Stay." And so he did.
While Steve slept, Bucky formulated a plan to keep Steve busy and distracted over the next few days. In the morning, after a meager breakfast of toast and watery coffee, Bucky dragged Steve all the way to Manhattan, and right up to the Waldorf-Astoria, which was quite possibly, the swankiest place they'd ever seen.
Some day, he promised, he and Steve would live in a place as beautiful as that. They'd have plenty of rooms, and a balcony where Steve could sit and sketch all day long if he wanted to. They'd order room service, and have people clean up after them. Their closets would be filled with fancy clothes, and night, they'd get dressed up and go dancing in the ballroom.
It was a beautiful dream, even if they both knew it was never likely to come true. Guys like them didn't catch breaks, and they'd be poor until they died. Steve might not even be able to beat the pneumonia next time, and all the plans in the world couldn't change that fact.
A few weeks later, they left the old apartment building for good, the place holding too many bittersweet reminders for Steve. Their new place was even smaller than what they were used to, but it was still in the same neighborhood, and the rent was cheap enough for them.
The night they were finally moved in, Steve and Bucky made love for the first time. Steve was more nervous than he'd ever been in his life, but Bucky's hands and mouth were sure and skilled. Steve came apart under his attentions, and when he cried out his lover's name, Bucky covered Steve's mouth with his own and drank down his voice.
Bucky still went out with as many girls as he could, but he plied them with drinks and mostly made sure they were too drunk to remember much about the night before. When that didn't work he only went as far as he had to with them to keep from arousing suspicion. There were already enough nasty things being said about Steve, and Bucky refused to do anything that would endanger the one he loved further.
Two years went by in a heartbeat, and in that time, the whole world went crazy. The country was at war, and as could have been predicted, Steve insisted on joining up. By the time Bucky was drafted, Steve had already tried to enlist several times in several different cities. Each time he had been rejected, even though he pleaded with the doctors to give him a chance.
The thought of going to war terrified Bucky, not because he was afraid of dying, but because he was afraid to leave Steve alone. That stubborn, little punk who had clawed and fought his way into Bucky's heart until there wasn't a space in it that didn't belong to Steve.
Fights became more frequent in the weeks leading up to Bucky's deployment. Steve would never admit it out loud, but he was jealous of Buck for being able to do the one thing Steve wanted most in the world; defend his country and help stop a tyrant.
On the night before Bucky left, after another disastrous double date and an argument at the World's Fair, the two young men made love for what they were afraid might be their last time. Every touch was more desperate, each kiss more fevered as Bucky created a memory for Steve that would last him the rest of his life.
Morning came, and Steve pretended to be alseep so Bucky wouldn't see the tears that streamed down his face. If the unthinkable happened, he wanted Buck's last memory of him to be of the night before, and not of the blubbering wreck he'd be if he had to kiss Bucky goodbye in the daylight.
"Wait, Bucky left him?" James interrupts, because he doesn't understand. If he had someone who loved him that much, he'd never want to give him up, no matter what. "Steve must have been devastated."
"He was," says the Captain in a rough voice. "But Bucky was only doing what he had to do, and what Steve wanted him to do; the right thing. He didn't want to leave Steve."
James chews on that for a second before answering. "Yeah, but what he really should have done was told Uncle Sam to go to hell. And then he should have taken Stevie and convinced him to run. Not wanting to go to war doesn't make him a coward, but walking away from the love of his life kinda does."
"Yeah, maybe," Steve replies before continuing his story.
The next day, Steve woke up to find his world completely changed. He hadn't told Bucky, but after their argument, he had met someone who offered him the chance he had been hoping for. A man named Dr. Erskine wanted Steve to be a participant in a top secret government experiment; one that would grant Steve his wish and allow his body to become as strong as his spirit.
He met a beautiful, young British military officer named Peggy, and he fell a bit under her spell. She was the first woman who didn't look at him like he was something she'd scraped off the bottom of her shoe, and Steve appreciated that. But it still didn't change the fact that his heart belonged to a man who was on the other side of the ocean. Once, when she asked him why he had never learned to dance, he answered that he was waiting for the right partner. Steve knew Peggy thought he meant her, but at the very moment he said the words, Bucky's handsome face came to his mind. He felt bad about not setting her straight, but he didn't have the heart to.
Steve underwent the experiment, and it was a resounding success. The serum they injected into his body made it grow, and he gained all the strength and health he had missed out on as a boy and then some. Finally strong enough to fight in the war, he was instead denied the chance. The powers that be had other plans for him, and it seemed as though his dreams of being a war hero were all but crushed.
The nation needed a symbol, an ideal to look up to and give the people hope. Steve became that symbol, and he spent months being paraded around the country, just one more piece of propaganda in the business of war.
At night, he wrote letters to Bucky that he never intended to send. So many times, he tried to tell the man he loved about the new Steve Rogers, but he was afraid. Steve had heard the stories, seen images of the soldiers who returned home severely wounded, or worse, dead. He understood Bucky was fighting for his life everyday, and worrying over Steve was something he didn't need to be doing just then.
"Excuse me," a voice interrupts them. James and the Captain both turn to see a nurse smiling at them from the doorway. "It's time for lunch."
They sit silently as she wheels in a tray. She makes a move to begin setting out plates before them, but James waves her away.
"I'm not hungry," he states flatly.
The nurse nods and leaves, but not before saying softly to the Captain, "Try and get him to eat something."
The Captain waits until they are alone again before reaching for the plate of fresh fruit and placing it in front of James. "The melon is sweet today. I had a bite earlier."
James grins shyly and takes a small piece in his fingers without thinking about it. He pops it into his mouth and chews it slowly. The Captain wasn't lying; it is deliciously sweet.
"Did they ever see each other again?" he asks as soon as he has swallowed down the bite. "Bucky and Steve?"
Chuckling softly, the Captain replies, "You don't want me to spoil the end of the story, do you?"
"No, I guess not." Another bite of melon. "This is a good story, though."
"I'm glad you like it," says the Captain.
"I think I've heard it before. Maybe more than once?" asks James hesistantly. It's very familiar, but he knows there are holes in his memory that come and go like the tide outside his window.
"Yes." The Captain looks hopeful when he answers James, who only takes in the revelation, and nods again.
There is a knock, and the nurse from earlier is back. "I'm sorry, but the doctor would like to speak with the Captain."
"He hasn't finished his story yet," James snaps at her before he can stop himself. He wishes she would just go away and leave them alone.
"It's all right," says the Captain quickly. "This won't take too long, and I'll be right back." He is at the door when he stops and turns back to James. "While you're waiting, maybe you'd like to play the piano for a few minutes? You do enjoy that."
"I do?" James asks incredulously.
The Captain smiles widely at him. "Mm-hmm. You can even read music." He hurries out of the room and to the doctor's private office, the smile never leaving his face.
The doctor looks up from his papers when the Captain enters the room. He gestures to the seat in front of him, and the Captain sits in it. "Still reading to Mr. Barnes, I see?" he asks without preamble.
"I read to him and it helps him. He remembers, Doc. Not always, but he remembers."
"The damage Hydra did to him might not ever be healed. You understand that, right?"
The Captain smiles wryly at the doctor. "Thank you, doctor. But you know what they say, right? Science only goes so far, then comes love."
As the Captain navigates the clinic's hallways back to James' room, he can hear a melody drifting in the air. "I'll Never Smile Again" was always one of James' favorites, and he plays it now beautifully.
When James looks up and catches him staring, the Captain smiles. "Not too shabby," he jokes. The way James' pale blue eyes light up at the praise makes the Captain's heart ache. He wishes he could hold James, kiss his red lips, run his fingers through the long, brown hair, tell how much he means to him, and how glad he is to have him back.
But he can't, not now. So he does the next best thing. He helps him remember. Guiding James back to the table, the Captain reads.
Whether it was chance, or fate, or something more, Steve found himself overseas on his USO tour. His performance in front of the troops was a disaster, and he was almost ready to give up and go home. He was feeling sorry for himself, hating his situation, and missing Bucky more than ever when Peggy Carter told him something that would change the course he was on.
The men he had performed in front of were what was left of the 107th, the same unit Bucky belonged to. The rest had been captured in Italy, and had been taken to a Hydra base in Austria. Colonel Phillips couldn't give Steve a definite answer as to whether Bucky had been one of the men killed in action or not.
"I'm sorry, son. The name does sound familiar."
There was to be no rescue mission. The captured men were being held deep in hostile territory, and the risk was deemed too great. But if there was even a sliver of a chance that Bucky was still alive, Steve had to try and find him.
With only a half-formed plan, and a mountain of faith, Steve jumped out of an airplane thirty miles behind enemy lines. He fought his way into the prison, and helped to release a large group of Allied captives. A British officer pointed him in the direction of the isolation ward, but warned him that no one had ever come back from it.
For the first time in his life, though, luck was with Steve that day. He found the man he loved strapped to a metal table, his body battered and bruised, but alive. Steve was so overjoyed he could have wept, but Bucky needed him to be strong.
Against all odds, despite a confrontation with the head of Hydra, one Johann Schmidt, amidst explosions and falling bridges, and "No, not without you!'', the two of them made it out together. Bucky had begun recovering quickly, and was able to walk out of the ashes of the Hydra base on his own steam.
They walked in silence for nearly an hour, Steve stealing little glances at Bucky whenever he thought he wasn't looking. Bucky's hair was a mess, and his handsome face was covered in stubble and grime, and he had a deep gash on one cheek. He was thinner than Steve remembered, and his clothes hung loosely from his frame. The shadows under his eyes gave his face a sharper, harder edge, and Steve wondered if there was anything left of the boy he knew before.
"Would you quit it all ready, Steve?" Bucky's voice jolted Steve from his thoughts.
"Quit what? I don't know what you're talking about, Buck."
"You keep starin' at me like I've grown another arm or somethin'." Bucky stopped walking and faced Steve down. "I'm the one who should be staring at you! How the hell did this happen? And don't give me any of that 'I joined the army' business."
Steve shuffled from foot to foot, and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He took a shaky breath, and began haltingly, "The night before you left, I met a man. A doctor, and he offered me a chance to change my life. He said he could make me better, stronger... And I knew you were leaving, and all I wanted in the world was to be going with you. And not just to fight in this war, Bucky, but to fight at your side. I hated the thought of you coming over here without me."
Tears were beginning to leak from Steve's large, blue eyes, and he wiped them away furiously. This was not how he had imagined their reunion going. The sob he had been trying so desperately to contain burst forth when he felt Bucky's arms wrap around him. They were a little harder and thinner than Steve remembered, but they were still just as strong. Bucky still felt like home.
"Stevie," Bucky whispered against his ear. "You didn't need to be better. You were always perfect to me. Always been the only good thing in my life worth having. I ain't mad at you, you gotta know that. I couldn't ever stay mad at you even if I wanted to, but what if something had gone wrong? What if..." Bucky swallowed thickly. "What if you'd gone and died?"
"I had to take the shot, Bucky. I don't ever want to be somewhere you're not, ever again. This was the only way."
"Shhhh, it's all right," Bucky soothed Steve. It was strange for both of them. Their bodies didn't fit together in quite the same way any more. Bucky couldn't rest his chin on the top of Steve's head like he used to, and Steve's arms were too high up now to wrap them around Bucky's trim waist comfortably. But somehow, they found a way.
"I love you, punk. You know that don't you? Don't matter what body you're in, I'll always love you."
Steve sniffed, and wiped his eyes once more. He looked down into Bucky's eyes, and cupped his best friend's cheek with a large, warm, palm. Bucky leaned into the touch, his eyelids fluttering closed and a small shiver passing through his body.
Softly, Steve pressed his lips to Bucky's, who gasped in surprise. Not one to waste an opportunity, Steve deepened their kiss, reminding himself that Bucky was really here with him. The kiss went on for several long moments, until they had to pull away for air.
Their foreheads remained pressed together, their breath mingling. "I love you too, Bucky. You're my best guy."
Bucky snorted, and quickly tried to stifle it. He spent a few seconds struggling to keep a straight face, but soon he couldn't help it, and a laugh bubbled up through his chest and out of his mouth. "Oh, Stevie! Your best guy?"
Steve watched as the laughter transformed Bucky's face. His pale eyes lost some of their hardness, his lips regained some color. Before Steve knew what had happened, he was laughing along with Bucky, his right hand clutching at the left side of his chest and his head thrown back. It almost felt like old times again, and Steve couldn't remember the last time he had been so happy.
Bucky had come blazing and streaming back into his life, like a shooting star. On the walk to catch up with the rest of the freed POW's, Steve contemplated the agony he knew would be his, if he were to lose him twice.
"I wish I could figure out the end to this story," James muses out loud when he sees the same bothersome nurse enter.
"You have visitors," she announces.
"Visitors?" James asks curiously.
"I'm sorry, James. Not you, the Captain."
"Oh..." he answers, the disappointment clear in his voice. He can't remember if he's ever had a visitor since he's been here.
"Would you like to meet my family?" the Captain asks him with a smile.
James meets the Captain's warm eyes, smiles, and says softly, "Yes."
With a hand placed on James' lower back, the Captain guides him out of the clinic's back entrance and out onto the veranda. It faces the ocean, and the cry of seagulls carries on the breeze.
James stops short when he catches sight of a group of individuals leaning against the wooden railings farthest away. They are a diverse group that is for sure, but they are certainly all beautiful people. For the first time, James self-consciously glances down at his clothing. He is wearing a faded, black tee, low slung workout pants, and trainers.
Five men and one woman stand across the patio from James. Whatever conversation they were having has stopped and each one of them has turned to stare at him. James feels uncomfortable with all the eyes on him, and he stops in his tracks.
The Captain reaches out and places a hand on James' shoulder soothingly. "It's okay," he says. His voice is hopeful and his eyes shine with encouragement. "These are my... brothers and sister," he finishes with no small amount of pride.
James quirks his eyebrow at the Captain, because he knows his mind is pretty messed up, but there's no way all these people can be related to the Captain. First of all, not a single one looks a thing like him. They don't even look like each other. But he lets himself be steered towards the group.
"Guys," the Captain begins, "this is my friend James. James, this is Tony, Bruce, Nat, Clint, Sam, and Thor."
"Hello," James mumbles at them, shaking each of their hands as they place them in front of him. Nat and Sam regard him warily, Tony, Bruce, and Clint all look curious, and Thor's eyes have taken on a melancholy cast.
"It's great to meet you Bu-" Tony gets an elbow to his ribs from the man called Bruce, who looks at James sheepishly. "Uh, buddy. Great to meet you, buddy, I was gonna say," Tony greets him with a smile, before muttering, "Ouch, rude..." under his breath.
James exchanges a few more pleasantries with Steve's "family" before making his excuses. They are all being kind and welcoming, but it's obvious they aren't comfortable with him being there.
"I, um, I think I might go and lie down for a bit," he announces.
"Are you sure you can't stay?" asks the Captain with a hopeful look on his face. It almost breaks James' heart to have to say he's sure. Watching that expression melt into one of hurt disappointment is almost unbearable.
"Okay, then," the Captain says sadly. "I'll read some more to you later?"
"Yeah, I'd like that." James turns to the people gathered before him. "Pleasure to meet you all. Gentlemen, Ma'am," he finishes politely as he inclines his head to them. He turns away and hurries back to his room, not wanting to look at the Captain's sad eyes a moment longer.
As soon as he is gone, Tony says, "He looks good today, Cap."
"He is good. I don't know guys. There's just something about today. Maybe it's a day for a miracle. Tony, I can never thank you enough for paying for all of this."
Tony dismisses the thanks with a wave of his hand. "Think of it as an investment in our future. If he ever gets better, he'd be a hell of an addition to the team."
"Cap, come home. You're only hurting yourself more by doing this," Clint blurts out. The withering looks he gets from the others cause him to fold in on himself.
"What Clint means is that James doesn't recognize you. He may never remember anything," Natasha tries more gently.
"And we miss you, man," Sam adds.
"We would all be happy to take turns coming to visit the Sergeant were you to move back into the Tower," Thor continues, nodding helpfully. "I know full well the desire to want to help the one you love most in the world, and I would gladly share in your burden."
"We're your family. You don't have to do all this alone," Bruce says softly. "Come home. Take a break. He'll still be here in a few weeks."
"Look guys," the Captain begins determinedly. "That's my best guy in there. I'm not leaving him. Not ever again. This place is my home now. Bucky is my home. He always has been."
An hour later, after they're all talked out, Tony and the others rise to go. "Don't forget to take care of yourself while you're taking care of him, all right?" Sam reminds him.
"I know, I will guys." He hugs them all goodbye, sad to see them go, but not sad to be staying behind. After they round the corner of the building, he turns and rushes back inside to James' room.
Steve finds him sitting at the window, staring at the ocean again.
"Did you have a nice visit?" James asks, and he can't keep the edge of bitterness from his voice. He isn't sure what he is more jealous of, that he doesn't get visitors, or that the Captain wanted to spend time with someone other than him.
"It was nice," the Captain answers truthfully. "But I couldn't wait to get back here to you."
James' lips begin to pull up at the corners, and then he is smiling, so wide and bright it's like staring into the sun for the Captain. He vows to hold on to every detail of this moment, so he can draw it from memory as soon as he's alone, to remind him of why he's doing this to himself.
"So, do you think you might want to continue reading?" James asks cautiously.
"Sure, yes, yes of course." The Captain is blushing, all the way up to his ears, and James knows he has never seen a sight more beautiful.
"Could we sit out on the beach? I think I used to like sitting on the warm sand."
"Anything you want, James," answers the Captain happily.
Steve and Bucky's return to base camp was a triumphant one. They marched in shoulder to shoulder, the rest of the men right behind. It was the proudest moment of Steve's life. He'd managed to do what everyone had believed impossible - he'd marched through the gates of Hell to bring back the man he loved. Everything else was just icing on the cake.
Peggy stood in front of him, her smile small and unreadable, and Bucky was at his side, calling for a cheer from the gathered crowd, and Steve was sure they were both equally proud of him.
What he didn't see was the way Bucky's face fell when Steve looked away. What he couldn't know was that Bucky was feeling forgotten, useless, and inconsequential. His entire life almost as far back as he could remember was so wrapped up in being Steve's protector. If he wasn't needed anymore for that, would he still occupy a special place in Steve's heart? And the way that woman had looked at Steve made it clear she was interested in him. Was it only a matter of time before she won him over?
The next few days kept Steve more than occupied. The entire time he was being debriefed by Peggy and Colonel Phillips, all he could think of was Bucky.He was tired, and he needed to sleep for a week, with his best guy bundled in his arms to keep the cold at bay. He and Buck had not had a chance to talk, because it seemed like Bucky was avoiding him.
Steve was determined to change that, however. He found Bucky in the bar, alone, downing whiskey from a dirty glass like it was water. As hard as he was going at it, Steve almost couldn't believe Bucky was still upright.
It was the perfect opportunity to confront Bucky about the cold shoulder routine, but Steve was nervous. Instead, he sat down at a table with some of the men he had helped to escape. These guys had been the first ones he encountered in the prisoner's ward, and they had been invaluable on the march back to Allied territory. They were the ones he wanted on his mission to take out Schmidt, Colonel Phillips' opinions be damned. Steve was elated when they all agreed to fight at his side, and he wanted to share the good news with the man he loved.
"See? I told you, they're all idiots," Bucky drawled when Steve slid into the seat next to his.
Steve smiled at him, looking for the right words to say, and feeling like he was fumbling it all up. And then Peggy walked into the room, dressed to kill and ready to stake her claim on him. He was flustered, unused to the attention, and honestly just a bit embarrassed, not wanting Bucky to get the wrong idea. Peggy never even glanced at Bucky, despite his half hearted attempt at charming her.
"I might, when this is all over, go dancing," she said smoothly, her eyes sparkling.
"Then what are we waiting for?" Bucky asked. He was giving an impression of a man on the hunt, but it was a hollow attempt at best.
"The right partner," she answered coolly.
Steve tried to make a joke when she walked away, because he knew Bucky was upset by her appearance. Not because she had blatantly ignored him, but because she had looked at Steve the same way Bucky did, like there was no one else in the room.
At the bar, Steve ordered two drinks, one for himself and one for Bucky. But when he turned back around, he found his best friend had disappeared. Steve searched the entire bar, but didn't find Bucky.
Making his way to his private quarters, he prayed Bucky would be waiting for him there. Steve was not disappointed. Bucky had a duffel bag open, and was shoving his few belongings into it haphazardly, and he pointedly refused to look at Steve when he entered.
"Hey, Buck, what're you doing?"
"What's it look like, pal? I'm giving you your privacy. You're free to entertain Agent Carter here whenever you'd like. Maybe even put a record on, and she can teach you to dance right goddamn here. No need to wait for the war to be over. Do it now. Rip that bandaid right off!"
"I don't understand..." Steve stammered, even though he knew exactly what Bucky meant.
"Don't give me that innocent schoolboy routine, Rogers. It might work on someone who doesn't know you, but it sure as hell ain't gonna work on me. I've seen the way she looks at you," Bucky finished brokenly, his shoulders slumped. He threw himself onto the cot, which buckled under his weight, cracking down the middle and sending Bucky crashing to the ground.
"Shit! Jesus H. Christ, shit, shit, shit!" Bucky shouted angrily.
"Don't take the Lord's name in vain," Steve insisted automatically.
"That's what you've got to say?" Bucky asked incredulously. "Not, 'You're right, Buck. I want Carter to be my sweetheart, and there's no room for you in my new life.'" Bucky stumbled to his feet, kicking at the remnants of the cot.
"Because it's not true," answered Steve honestly. "Sure, Peggy's beautiful, and any guy would be lucky to have her. And I know she thinks there could be something between us, and maybe, for half a second I did too. But there can't be, cause I've already got a sweetheart, and it's always been you Buck. I think I've loved you since the first time you came to see me when I was sick and thought I was gonna die. 'Til the end of the line, remember?"
"But-" Bucky began before Steve cut him off.
"No, buts. You're the one, and there's no way in hell I'm letting you get away from me. There is no me without you, Bucky." Closing the distance between them, Steve took Bucky's face in his hands, and kissed him. He put every ounce of love he had into it, desperate to make Bucky see there would never be anyone else but him.
"Me too," Bucky breathed. "Me too, pal."
Grabbing hold of Buck's hand, Steve dragged Bucky down next to his footlocker. From inisde, he pulled a small, flat, package wrapped in brown paper. Carefully, he unfolded it to reveal a vinyl 78, the label reading, "Bing Crosby, Only Forever."
"So does my sweetheart want to teach me how to dance?"
Bucky nodded and smiled wide, throwing himself onto Steve and kissing him breathless. He never did get around to teaching Steve how to dance.
"It's a beautiful story," James whispers softly. He says it to himself, not expecting the Captain to hear him, but somehow he does.
"Yes, it is."
"I don't know why, but it makes me feel sad."
The Captain stays silent, but looks at James with tortured eyes.
"Could we go inside?" asks James. "It's getting cold out here. I don't like the cold at all... It's lonely..."
The Captain swallows hard, and takes a few seconds to respond. When he does, his voice is hoarse and shaky. "Okay, anything you want." He stands, brushes off his pants, and then extends his hand to James, who takes it, and allows himself to be pulled up.
James carries his shoes in his hand while he walks up the beach and towards the entrance ramp to the clinic. The Captain's hand brushes against his own as they move, and James is tempted to pull away. Before he can, though, he feels warm fingers curl over his. James smiles, and tightens the hold, the heat spreading from his fingers up his arm.
A pleasant surprise greets James when he enters his room. The table is set for two, fancy china plates, and champagne coupes. There are lit candles in the center, the lighting in the room has been dimmed, and there is a fire crackling in the fireplace.
"Who did all this?" he asks with a pleased smile.
"I did," the Captain responds, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. "Well, the nursing staff helped."
"Oh... it's beautiful..."
"Yes, beautiful," says the Captain, but he isn't looking at the setting. He's looking right at James.
James is slightly disappointed when they begin serving, and he finds that there isn't any actual alcohol in the decanter. It's grape juice. But the Captain looks gorgeous in the soft candlelight, and when he pours the juice and they clink their glasses together, James can certainly pretend.
"So, what happened?" James asks as he begins heaping potatoes onto his plate. "In the story, what happened to them? Did they make it home from the war?"
Steve and Bucky fought together with their team, doing their best to eradicate Hydra. Turns out Steve did still need Bucky to watch his back, as Bucky proved time and time again, taking out enemies from far away with his sniper rifle. Other times he fought up close, his eyes always on his Stevie.
At nights, in the privacy of Steve's tent, they made love, talked about their future, and then made love again. They tried to keep their affair a secret from the other men, afraid of their reaction. There was no need to worry, as they found out one morning when Dugan congratulated Bucky on a job well done.
"What the hell are you yammering on about, Dugan?" Bucky asked.
"Your skills in the sack, Barnes. Must be pretty impressive if the sounds Rogers was making last night are any indication," Dugan answered slyly.
Bucky and Steve stared at one another for a moment before bursting out laughing until their sides hurt.
With every Hydra base they took out, the team's confidence grew. Soon, the men began to believe themselves invincible, even though they knew they shouldn't.
The opportunity to capture one of the enemy's top scientists presented itself, and Steve couldn't pass it up. The plan was dangerous, involving a speeding train, a snow covered mountain top and a zipline.
No one had counted on the train being armed. They were fired upon, and Bucky did what he always did, what his body was trained to do. He protected Steve, and was rewarded by being blasted out of the side of the moving train. He clung to a rail on the outside of the car, while Steve tried to reach him. Then the rail broke away, and Bucky fell, taking Steve's heart with him.
There was one last mission left, but Steve didn't plan on making it out alive. He might have given up already if the need for vengeance hadn't been driving him so thoroughly. Nothing would stop him from taking out Schmidt, and putting an end to Hydra, making them pay in blood the price of Bucky's life.
His last thought as he crashed a plane into the Arctic was of Bucky, of his sweet smile and his bright eyes. I'm coming home, Buck, he thought. Wait for me, pal, I'm coming home.
Except he didn't make it home. Seventy years later, Steve woke up from an icy slumber, to a world he never believed he would live to see. The life he had known no longer existed, and the people he cared about were gone. He was alone.
There was a new reason to fight, another mad, power hungry tyrant to stop. Along the way, he made new friends. But none of them would ever hold the place in his heart that Bucky did. Every morning he woke, he was forced to face the fact that he had failed the only man he had ever loved.
Until one day, Steve found what he thought he'd lost. Somehow, Bucky was returned to him. He wasn't the same, and he didn't remember Steve. He'd been hurt, and tortured, and had his memories and his life stolen from him. Even after they were supposedly gone, Hydra was still finding ways to ruin their lives.
Old friends faced off as foes, the brutal confrontation taking them both to the limits of their endurance. And then Steve gave up, and gave in. The boy who didn't know how to back away from a fight threw down his shield and surrendered. "I'm with you 'til the end of the line," he choked out before he fell too.
Only this time, Bucky did what Steve hadn't been able to do all those years ago. Bucky saved him. Steve didn't know if there would be a happily ever after for them or not, but he didn't care. Life had given them a second chance, and this was one fight Steve wouldn't give up.
"Who got a second chance?" James asks, his face screwed up in concentration. "Oh, wait. I remember now... It was us."
"Yeah," Steve exhales. "It was us. It was us." He's crying openly, and he and Bucky move as one, rising from their chairs fluidly and crashing their bodies together.
"Steve... Stevie..." Bucky whispers. "I can't believe they made me forget you." He places his hands on either side of Steve's face, and immediately he pulls away. Now that he remembers, he sees his left arm for what it is. Cold metal and death.
"No, no, no, no, Bucky don't." Steve takes his hand, holds it tight against his chest. "I love you, Buck. All of you. Even this." He raises Bucky's hand, kisses the open palm gently.
"What happened to me, Stevie?" and Bucky's voice is broken and jagged.
"Nothing, sweetheart. You just went away for a little while."
"How much time do we got?"
"I don't know. Once it was three whole days. Last time it was no more than five minutes."
"Then let's not waste it," Bucky answers before sealing his mouth over Steve's and kissing him hungrily. He can taste salt on Steve's lips, and he kisses the tears away, licking his own lips afterward and swallowing down Steve's sorrow.
"Come on, let's get out of here," he says, as he takes Steve's hand and drags him halfway to the door.
Steve stops and pulls his hand free. Bucky stands in the doorway, his hands braced on the doorframe, and he shoots Steve his best flirty smile. "We could go skinny dipping, just the two of us, like we did that one time in that lake in France. You want to?"
"I don't know... It's kind of late, sweetheart."
"Come on, why not?" he pleads once more. Suddenly the playful grin drops from his face, and it's like a light switch has been flipped. "Wait a minute, why did you call me sweetheart? I don't know you." James is looking around the room wildly, his expression settling into a mask of fear.
"Am I supposed to know you?"
The Captain looks like he's in pain when he settles his eyes on James. "Bucky, Bucky please..."
"No!" James shouts hysterically.
"Bucky, I love you, stay with me, don't leave. Stay with me, Buck..."
"No! Who the hell are you? What do you want from me?"
The Captain is edging closer, his hands held out placatingly. "Come on, sweetheart."
James shoves the man away from him hard. The Captain crashes into the table, sending dishes flying. "Don't touch me! Stay away from me!" He bends down and picks up a shard of broken china, squeezing it tightly in his left hand. Absently, he wonders why it doesn't hurt or bleed, but he pushes the thought away. It hurts his head too much to think about it.
"Put that down, Buck. You're gonna hurt yourself," the Captain is pleading.
"Shut up! Stop calling me that! I'm not him!" James advances towards the man on the floor. Before he reaches him, he finds himself being tackled from behind. His head cracks against the ground, and he's momentarily stunned. Then he's fighting back, thrashing in the grip of at least four different sets of hands.
"Stop it," the Captain is shouting. "You're scaring him!"
James is hyperventilating, and shouting unintelligibly. Then a needle is penetrating the skin of his neck, a second later, his eyes roll back in his head, and he slumps forward, oblivious to the sounds of Steve's grief.
Half an hour later, Steve has picked Bucky up and placed him in the large bed, carefully dragging the covers up around him. He knows how much Bucky abhors the cold, and he won't let him suffer it ever again.
"Sir," the nurse begins. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Mr. Barnes needs his rest, and your presence here might be too much for him. Doctor's orders," she adds when she sees Steve's mouth open in protest.
"As for myself, I believe I left my phone in my car. I'm going to go outside and take a look. I may be gone a long while, and I won't be back to check on you, so please, remember what I said." She smiles at Steve sadly before retreating from the room.
Steve doesn't waste a minute dragging the chair over to the bed. He sits and reaches over to brush a lock of Bucky's hair back from his face. His fingers trace over red lips that pout even in sleep. "I love you so much," he whispers. "Come back to me. I know you won't ever be the same man I knew before. But just remember us, please."
He falls asleep in the chair, his fingers clutching the blanket that is still wet with his tears. It's not until he feels something cold and hard against his scalp that he wakes. Steve remains still, not wanting the moment to end.
Bucky is awake, metal fingers combing through Steve's blond hair. Even though Steve hasn't opened his eyes or moved, somehow, Buck can still tell he is awake.
"Stevie," he calls out softly. "You're here."
"Of course I'm here Buck. Where else would I be?" Steve answers as he chances a glance up at Bucky. His eyes are shining and there are wet tracks down his cheeks.
"Anywhere. You shouldn't be here, Stevie. I'm broken, and you can't fix me. What if I don't ever come back?"
"No," Steve says, shaking his head vigorously. "You'll come back."
"But what if I don't?" Bucky insists, his eyes brimming with the tears he is determined to hold back.
"Then I'll still be here. I'll never leave you again. You and me, 'til the end of the line."
And now Bucky does break, an anguished sob ripping free. He is blindly groping for Steve, latching onto his bicep and hauling him onto the bed beside him.
Steve comes willingly, folding himself around Bucky, creating a protective barrier, not to keep anything out, but to try and keep Bucky's memories in. It's some time before Bucky's weeping quiets down. When it does, he turns to face Steve, pushing himself into the warmth that his body radiates. They don't kiss, only press their foreheads together and exchange breaths, lips hovering just out of reach.
"I need to ask you something," Bucky breathes. "Is our love strong enough for this?"
"Yeah, it is, Buck. That love is what brings you back to me each time."
"Just promise me you won't ever let me hurt you like that again. Christ, I shot you! I almost killed you." Bucky is babbling now, the guilt weighing him down and making him trip over his words.
"Shhh," Steve consoles him. "You're not gonna hurt me." He kisses the top of Bucky's head and puts his finger to Bucky's lips to stop him from arguing back. "Now try and get some rest. The doctor says you have to sleep."
Bucky hesitates for a moment before relenting. "Okay. Will you stay with me?"
"Anything you want," Steve replies, and kisses Bucky properly this time, his tongue slipping past parted lips with ease. When they break apart, Bucky sighs contentedly, his eyes already sliding closed. Steve knows it won't be long until his breathing evens out.
He also knows Bucky's moment of lucidity may not last long. Steve will have to get up soon, resume his vigil in the chair beside Bucky's bed. He won't allow Bucky to wake up in bed with a man he may not recognize.
"G'night Stevie," Bucky mumbles.
Steve can't know what tomorrow will bring, but for now, for a few precious moments at least, he will allow himself this. He tightens his hold on Bucky, and answers, "Good night, Buck."