Chapter Text
Bucky got out of the shower to the smell of bacon and eggs wafting into his room - Steve’s room - from the kitchen. He could hear Steve humming quietly to himself, the lyrics of one of the songs produced shortly after he went into hibernation on his lips. Bucky smiled, finally feeling like the James Buchanan Barnes who died the day the Winter Soldier was born. He was living in an apartment again as opposed to on the streets of Brooklyn and he lived with Steve again. He still couldn’t entirely believe he was with the boy he’d chased all of his life, living here in Steve’s clean little apartment, after so many years of being apart and being the Winter Soldier. In the privacy of his room, he took a moment to sit on the bedside and simply look at himself and enjoy the sound coming from the kitchen. His chest was flecked with little scars that he assumed were from shrapnel and his human arm the same. His other arm gleamed malevolently in the morning light, few scratches marring its mirror-like surface. He caught sight of his own blue eyes reflected back at him and the hope he’d been feeling sank into a cold lump in his stomach. He was still a Hydra creation and he had to remember that. He wasn’t human. He was a monster. He’d killed more people than he could count, men women and children alike. He was a cold, unfeeling machine that only did as it was told. Bucky glared down at the prosthetic arm and the warped scar tissue that bound it to his skin. It was a gleaming metal reminder of every life he’d taken and it was disgusting. He was disgusting. Slowly, Bucky pulled on one of the shirts on loan to him from Steve and stood, one voice constantly circling through his head. I am a monster, it said. I am a monster and I do not deserve love. He quietly stepped out of his room and to the kitchen where Steve was absentmindedly humming and stirring a pan full of chopped onions. Bucky silently took a seat at the counter and propped his head on his hands. A smile tugged weakly at the corner of his mouth as another memory from when he was clean and whole returned to him.
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“Linger in my arms a little longer, baby,” sang Steve as he flipped a pancake in the skillet his mother had left him.
“Hold me tight,” answered Bucky, filling in the next lyrics. He smirked at Steve’s surprise and the two of them finished the verse together, the pancake momentarily forgotten. Steve laughed when they were finished.
“Didn’t know you knew the song, Buck,” said Steve, smiling broadly.
“Of course I know it, you sing it all the time,” answered Bucky.
Steve’s eyes went wide for a moment, then he whirled back to the stove, where the pancake had begun to burn. He flipped it again and blushed furiously. He grumbled under his breath about how insufferably sweet Bucky’s voice was, no matter how husky, and how distracting he was. Steve gasped and nearly flung the pancake to the ceiling as Bucky’s hands slid across his stomach and pulled him into a hug.
“Bucky, you scared the heck outta me!”
“Gotcha!” Bucky pulled back and laughed as Steve recovered the pancake and blushed beet red. Steve shot him a glare, which only made Bucky laugh harder. Soon, even Steve had to laugh.
The pancakes were delicious.
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Bucky returned to himself as Steve added eggs to the now caramelized onions. The smell was absolutely heavenly. He stood and and walked quietly to where Steve stood and wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist. Steve yelped and almost threw the skillet full of food.
“Damnit, Bucky, you scared me!”
Bucky laughed quietly, not trusting himself not to cry. Steve smiled and leaned back into Bucky, continuing to hum. Bucky laid his head against Steve’s shoulder and smiled gratefully. He was glad Steve hadn’t pushed him away. As the thought crossed his mind, another appeared directly afterward. It was pathetic, wasn’t it? He was so low and so selfish that he thought himself worthy of Steve’s touch and affection. Bucky let Steve go and returned to his seat at the counter, smiling sadly. Steve glanced at him, brows knit in concern.
“Buck…?” Steve’s voice was tinged with sadness and confusion.
“Gotcha, Stevie.”