Chapter Text
“So,” Steve said, one night after supper, about a week after what they were calling the Scrubbing Incident. “Are you doing okay?”
They’d finished washing the dishes and they were sitting on the couch, deciding whether to read or watch something.
Bucky sighed. “I don’t know. I mean, my sessions have gone pretty well, I guess. We went into the story time and tried to work through some things, like usual. Bavana says I need to retell the story from my point of view. He says that the way it’s told matters, and if I believe my side of the story, the world will find healing.”
Bavana, Bucky’s Wakandan therapist, had decided to move to Brooklyn to open a practice there, now that Wakanda was ready to share its advanced civilization with the rest of the world. Steve’s own therapist had stayed behind in Wakanda, though they still held regular sessions over the internet. Steve had met Bavana, and liked him a lot, but it was supposedly better for Bucky and Steve to have different therapists, and then meet with Ms. Johnstone to work on their issues as a couple.
“Does it make sense to you, what he tells you?” Steve asked.
“I think so,” Bucky said. “It’s not just what he says, it’s what I see when we journey. It’s vivid. I can see the way things actually happened, what I did… but I’m also there, not as a participant, but as a witness. I can actually watch the Soldier, see what he, I, was made to do — it really brings home that I wasn’t acting on my own volition.”
“And that helps?” Steve asked.
“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Reliving the story from a different perspective, like an omniscient narrator — I think it helps, because when I see what they made me do, I know, in my heart, that I wouldn’t have chosen to do those things if I could have avoided it. And I can forgive myself, because I can see how much I was suffering, how trapped I was.”
“That makes sense,” Steve said. “That’s the way I see it, too. You didn’t choose to do those things, and you weren’t free to do something different.”
“Well,” Bucky said. “It’s still hard though.”
“I know,” Steve said. “But you’re doing so good.”
“I wish I could do better. I wish … I mean, nothing can change the past. What’s done is done. I just wish I could do something to make amends.”
Steve shook his head and kissed Bucky on the cheek, hugging him closer.
“Amends is a noble thought, but in my opinion, you don’t owe anybody anything. You were a prisoner of war, you got captured serving your country. You don’t have to make amends for what they did to you.”
Bucky just nodded, but Steve knew he wasn’t convinced.
When Bucky started thinking this way, about what he owed for the things he’d done, Steve started feeling nervous that he might trigger another downward spiral like the one that had led to the massive panic attack in the kitchen.
On the other hand, Ms. Johnstone had suggested that maybe, Steve and Bucky should talk over the wet blankets idea before things got out of hand — to see whether it was something Bucky might be okay with — something that might actually give him some relief when things got too bad.
Steve decided to ask him. Better to talk it out then spring it on Bucky again in the heat of the moment.
“Do you think you’d ever want to be wrapped up like that again?”
“Maybe,” Bucky said. “It was a good feeling, in a way…. sometimes I feel like I’m going to fly apart, and the cold blankets did help that feeling go away.”
“Ms. Johnstone said we should put on nice music,” Steve said.
“I like Bach,” Bucky said. “So peaceful and perfect — but I prefer the ones that are not too fast.”
“I can do Bach,” Steve said, relieved he wasn’t going to have to run through the minefield of Bucky’s reactions to pop music. Steve mostly remembered which songs Bucky had liked from the 20s and 30s, but Bucky also had strong feelings about later songs that were tied in with events he’d been part of. Steve had no way to guess at those strong negative associations, and they were only finding out about them one at a time. At least Bach had not been ruined for Bucky.
“What about the smells thing?” Steve asked.
“The smells thing?” Bucky laughed.
“Ms. Johnstone said to find out which smells you like and, I don’t know, make the room smell good somehow,” Steve said, blushing.
“I know I like lavender and rose,” Bucky said. “And the smell of oranges. Cinnamon.”
Steve asked the internet how to make the room smell like lavender, or other scents, and learned about diffusers, misters, and candles infused with essential oils. He bought a variety of essential oils that Bucky liked, and when they were at the farmer’s market they had a fun time smelling all the different smelling handmade soaps. Bucky cautiously sniffed, and Steve bought the ones that made Bucky happiest.
Bucky was the one who ordered the straps. Steve was surprised when they arrived, and didn’t know what to think.
“I can feel it building up… even though Bavana says I’m doing good — sometimes I just need it all to go away, just for a little.”
Steve understood, but he had one concern.
“Do you think you’ll panic this time?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” Bucky said. “Because, we’ll start out when I’m still calm… and we’ll use the music, and the good smells. I think, I’m hoping, it’ll help.”
“Okay, just let me know when,” Steve said, but he couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. The last time, Bucky had been pushed beyond his limits, and Steve wasn’t sure the next time would really be that different.
Daily life was usually uneventful for Steve and Bucky, now that Sam was acting as team leader while the Avengers pieced themselves together again. Thor and Bruce had had a crazy space adventure that Steve still didn’t quite understand, so despite the fact that they had avoided the so-called “civil war,” they were still recovering from an ordeal of their own.
The Spider kid was pretty amazing, at least as strong as Steve, and with Sam and Rhodes working together as lead tacticians, the team hadn’t really suffered from Steve’s leave of absence, which let him breathe a sigh of relief. Ant-Man and his partner, the Wasp, were a welcome addition to the team. With Steve, Clint and Natasha available “on reserve,” the Avengers were as strong as ever, especially with Vision and Wanda growing into their powers, at least as powerful as Thor, maybe more. Tony was back on an even keel with Pepper and Bruce nearby. And, of course, now that Wakanda was pursuing a policy of international cooperation, the Black Panther was ready to join in the response to any world-class threats.
Everything had come together to give Steve time to work on his art, time to devote to therapy and figuring himself out, and most important, time to enjoy being with Bucky, to be there while Bucky went through his own process, and just for the two of them to enjoy, as Tony called it, the extended honeymoon. They went to museums, out to dinner, dancing sometimes and out to the movies. They kept to a routine, but one spiced with good times.
The best part for Steve was the simple pleasure of finally having his love and adoration of Bucky out in the open. The fact that he had married Bucky in front of God and their gathered friends meant more to Steve than he could easily convey in words. Steve had pledged to stay with Bucky for the rest of his life, to support Bucky with everything he had in him, and he had never sworn a more heartfelt vow. Living together as husbands wasn’t something he’d ever dared to imagine, even during the six years they had actually lived together before the war. It meant so much to Steve, just going to sleep with Bucky beside him and opening his eyes to the same beautiful sight in the first light of dawn. To prepare simple meals together, take care of the house, and make fun plans for things they’d enjoy doing together — Steve couldn’t imagine anything better. Maybe some day he’d want to return full time as an Avenger, but that wasn’t a decision he’d make on his own. He’d decide that together with Bucky, when and if the time came.
in the mean time, Bucky was doing really well. He met with Bavana and worked through his memories of things he’d done as the Soldier. There were good days, and bad days, and Steve did his best to offer Bucky whatever support he needed — comfort food, cuddles, quiet time — it was all good to Steve. His own therapist was happy with his progress, though she often reminded Steve not to take on too many of Bucky’s struggles as his own, which Steve thought was easier said than done.
Most people would have found it hard to read the moods of the former Winter Soldier. His face was still and blank most of the time. Bucky’s emotions were real, and strong, but he had learned the hard way to keep them hidden. Even for Steve, trying to read that stony expression could prove a challenge.
It was more in what Bucky didn’t say that Steve read his clues.
Steve was looking over the reviews of a new exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum of Art. “You want to go see this exhibit about the civil rights movement?” Steve asked.
“Maybe,” Bucky said.
Steve looked closer. Bucky’s face was carefully schooled, but his gaze was down and that was never a good sign. It meant he was feeling things he was afraid of.
“We can just go to the sculpture garden,” Steve offered.
“Okay,” Bucky said, but he didn’t really look up.
Steve and Bucky walked among the ornamental figures, holding hands, but Bucky seemed a little absent. Afterwards, they stopped at one of Bucky’s favorite spots, a little deli that was mostly unchanged since the 20s when they were kids, but Bucky ate his corned beef mechanically and didn’t even chide Steve for choosing celery over black cherry soda.
Steve felt like maybe the time had come.
“Hey Buck,” he said, after they’d watched TV for a while that evening.
“Yeah?” Bucky said.
“You wanna, maybe, try the thing, with the blankets?”
Bucky drew a deep breath and let it all out in a deep sigh. “Yeah. I think I would.”
“Okay,” Steve said. “Okay then.”
Together they went into the bedroom and Steve spread out the heavy blankets on the bed along with the cordura straps Bucky had ordered. Bucky lay down on the blankets and breathed. Steve knew he was counting his inhales and exhales like his therapist had taught.
“You want me to put on the Bach?” Steve asked.
“I made a playlist,” Bucky said.
“You are so smart,” Steve said, and Bucky smiled, just a little, which eased Steve’s worries as he wrapped the blankets tight and fastened the straps.
Bucky tensed up a little as Steve cinched the blankets, but he didn’t try to thrash.
“Do you want any smells?” Steve asked.
“I think the rose?” Bucky said, so Steve misted a bit of essential oil into the air.
“Is it okay?” Steve asked. The playlist was playing some beautiful harp music with a soft jazzy, world beat feeling.
“Mmm,” Bucky said. His brow was still furrowed.
Steve waited a little while.
“Do you need the cold?” Steve asked.
“I just need, I need to get out of my head, I’m sorry,” Bucky murmured. “I’m sorry, Steve.”
“It’s okay, Buck,” Steve said, his heart aching. “We’re ready for it this time, no problem. Okay?”
“Yeah,” Bucky answered softly. “Just do it.”
Steve carried Bucky in his bundle to the tub and turned on the water. The sound of the water falling from the rain shower head was peaceful and seemed to lull Bucky. The water fell down and soaked into the blankets, cooling Bucky’s temperature down and down. A normal human would have fallen into a dangerous hypothermia as the time passed — but Steve kept a close eye on Bucky for any distress.
“Is it okay? How do you feel?” Steve asked.
“Good,” Bucky whispered, just a breath. “Cold. Peace….. peaceful.”
After another while, Bucky’s eyes fell shut and he didn’t answer Steve anymore. His pulse was still beating in his throat, even and regular, slow and steady.
Bucky’s face was pale with cold as his blood retreated to his core. It shook Steve a little, but he held to their plan. He shut off the water and waited for Bucky to stir.
The cold blankets held him down and under for a while, but at last he opened his eyes.
“Stevie,” he said, and smiled, just a small smile of greeting.
Steve found himself near tears at Bucky’s easy smile.
“Hey Buck, you ready to get out of that.”
“In a while,” Bucky said.
So Steve waited some more, until Bucky said he was ready to be let out.
Steve dried off his husband’s chilled body, draped him in a dry fluffy blanket, and led him back to the bedroom. He gave him a nice drink of water and his favorite gingerbread cookie.
Bucky fell asleep in Steve’s arms, still and serene. Steve breathed slow and easy, focusing on the blessing of having Bucky alive and getting better every day.
Steve must have fallen asleep at some point, because the morning came and he opened his eyes to find Bucky already awake.
“Good morning,” Bucky said with a smile.
“Morning, Buck,” Steve returned.
Bucky moved closer and took Steve in a soft, but possessive kiss. His lips were warm and sweet against Steve’s, and his arms reached out to pull Steve to him, entwining them together even closer than they habitually slept.
Steve let Bucky kiss him, relaxing into the love that poured out of his husband.
“I want you,” Bucky whispered. “Is that okay?”
“Yes,” Steve said. “I always want you, always, always.”
“I’m the luckiest guy in the world, then,” Bucky smiled.
Morning lovemaking was gentle and slow. Steve felt languorous and heavy, enjoying the feeling of Bucky’s two hands roaming over his skin, one warm and so familiar, one new and made of vibranium, just as skilled and dextrous as the other. Bucky’s long thick hair trailed across Steve’s skin like strands of silk as Bucky kissed him here and there. Steve was so relaxed by the time Bucky pressed his warm fingers inside that it took no time at all for him to be open and ready. Steve shivered as Bucky pushed in, just where Steve wanted him. Having Bucky deep inside him felt so right, complete, like everything was perfect in the world, with Bucky right there, moving inside him in a dance as old as love itself.
“Mm, I love you, Stevie,” Bucky whispered.
“Love you too,” Steve answered, gasping, as Bucky took him harder and he began to fall apart.
“Oh, Steve,” Bucky cried out, as he thrust deep and hard into Steve, and Steve clenched down like a vise and came for Bucky with a shout.
They held each other, catching their breath.
“I’ll fight you for the title of luckiest guy,” Steve said.
“I’ll win,” Bucky said, with his crooked little smirk.
“It’s on,” Steve said, grinning back, a good start to a fresh new day.