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It’s three hours before their rendezvous, and Bucky should be sleeping. Steve’s curled up on one side of the mattress in the bedroom of their safe house, and Bucky almost thinks about joining him. They need to be alert, after all. Tucking himself against Steve is a welcome prospect, even if it comes with a threadbare blanket draped over nearly flat pillows and an aging, broken down mattress.
Just one more round, he tells himself. He checks the windows for what must be the twentieth time, but they’re as alone now as they ever were. Rifle slung across his back, Bucky skulks down the hallway to the stairwell. The door to the roof is already busted from the first time he forced his way through, it it gives easily, letting him out onto the top of the building.
There’s not much to the rooftop, really. It’s just concrete and an exhaust fan, and a raised lip around the edge of the building to keep someone from just tumbling off the edge. The roof is as empty as it was the last time he checked, and every time before that. If he had any sense at all, Bucky would go back downstairs, and get some sleep .
He almost does, honestly. It’s just that there’s a quiet that comes at 3 a.m. at the far end of a small town. The hush falls over the rooftop like a blanket, and out here, where the light pollution isn’t so bad, the stars light up in a thick scatter across the night sky. Surely, no one can blame him for standing there, taking it in.
“Is this really how you’re going to spend your evening?” There’s a voice behind Bucky, familiar and prickling down his spine. His heart catches in his throat, even though reason tells him the whole thing has to be a trick.
“You can’t be here.” Bucky swallows and turns around, forcing his expression into something impassive. It’s all the protection he has.
James nods in agreement, but he spreads his arms in invitation. “And yet, here we are.”
There is nothing Bucky wants more than to close the distance between them. Only, he knows too good to be true when he sees it, and James really, truly can’t be. Bucky’s whole body flinches with the effort it takes to stay put. He sucks in a breath and lets it out as slowly as he can. “How are you here?”
“Well, sometimes if you wish real hard…” James teases. An impish smile creases his lips, heartbreakingly familiar.
“You’re not funny,” Bucky lies. If this is some kind of fake, it’s terribly convincing. “That’s not good enough and you know it.”
“It’s not,” James agrees, sobering immediately. His expression shifts from sly to beseeching. “It’s not good enough, but it’s all the explanation I’ve got.”
Everything screams at Bucky that this was some manner of trick. He still remembers light and nothingness and the cold soaking through him as he protected James from the abyss. He still remembers what goodbye felt like, and no matter how desperately he wants this to be real, it can’t quite chase away what haunts him. Bucky forces out words he doesn’t want to speak. “I can’t…”
“I wouldn’t believe me either,” James concedes, and he doesn’t look betrayed or angry at all. Bucky swears he can see James’ heart breaking in the distance between them. Even before James says anything, Bucky knows his paranoia has it all wrong. Whatever the odds, it’s James only barely more than an arm’s length from him.
Knowing doesn’t make Bucky move, but he means to ask for something, anything to convince himself. James never gives him the chance to ask for anything. “Tony Stark gave you an octopus mug. It’s completely tasteless, given your history… You use it anyway.”
Bucky’s lips purse briefly. It hurts not to accept that at face value, but he has to be certain. “Anyone could know that.”
“Maybe,” James agrees. He takes a step closer. Bucky touch touch if he just reached out, but he doesn’t. Instead, he frowns at James’ feet and the stretch of rooftop still between them.
“Tell me something else,” Bucky says. It’s not no. He can’t say no, but he can’t quite believe James is here either.
“You have atrocious taste in movies, Mr. “Sci-fi movies so bad they’re good are a genre”. ” James grins at him, even though it must hurt to be distrusted like that. Recognition clutches at Bucky’s heart.
“That could be a lucky guess,” Bucky breathes out, but it’s telling, the way he doesn’t stop James from closing the gap between them.
“It could be.” James’ mouth shifts ever so slightly, grief pulling at the edges of his smile. “Kiss me, then. Kiss me, and tell me I’m lying to you.”
It’s a trap. Reason tells him it has to be. Reason isn’t enough of a tether to keep him from reaching out, tentatively cradling James’ jaw in his hand. He shouldn’t kiss whatever this is. He absolutely shouldn’t, but then he does, his body tilting inward a fraction until their lips slot together. Everything he knows goes sideways.
Bucky’s stomach bottoms out like he’s on a roller coaster, but that doesn’t matter. It’s real, they’re real, and for a second, it’s beautiful. Even as James’ mouth pulls at his, Bucky’s mind is racing, eager to alert Steve. They belong together, the three of them.
He can’t even be embarrassed about the pitiful sound he makes when James finally pulls back to breath. Bucky’s arms wind around James, and in his elation, he almost misses the tension in the way James whispers to him. “I miss this. All the time.”
“You don’t have to anymore.” Bucky presses his nose into the crook of James’ neck. It’s cold against his skin.
“You know better than that,” James counters, the words coming out soft and shivery. Bucky can feel James’ arms around him, but there’s a strange quality to it, like the pressure is more memory than reality.
“You’re here, though,” Bucky insists. James’ shirt fabric bunches in Bucky’s curled fingers. “You’re right here.”
There’s a hiccup in James’ breath. It’s faint, but Bucky knows that grief as if it were his own. Maybe it is. James’ fingers are in his hair, threading through it the way they used to, precisely the way Bucky remembers it. James’ cheek rests against Bucky’s temple. “Where is here?”
“It’s… We’re in a safe house in…” Where are they? Bucky grasps for the information, sure he knows it, but it won’t come.
“You don’t know, do you?” James sniffs and pulls away, ever so slightly. Bucky doesn’t let go, but he does look up, unsettled by the cold that lingers.
“It doesn’t matter,” Bucky insists, turning his head to look for a landmark, anything to settle James’ fears. He peers out over the roofs of other buildings… the same buildings, over and over and over. The cold is sinking down into his bones. “Where are we?”
There’s a strange, squealing siren in the distance. It’s a sound Bucky knows, but can’t quite place. James’ expression is screwed up in a quiet sort of agony. “I wanted it to be real.”
All at once, Bucky knows the sound, because it’s pulling him from slumber. He wakes with a gasp and jolts upright, facing the bedroom door, but staring, wide eyed, at nothing. His breath comes in gasps like he’s a hairsbreadth from drowning, and he hardly hears the squalling of the alarm.
“Bucky? Hey, are you okay?” Steve’s hand splays across his spine, warm and solid, but all Bucky can remember is ice. It takes long, agonizing moments for the truth to sink in.
“I saw…” Bucky’s breath comes out in a grieving sort of shudder and he hangs his head.
“It’s okay.” Steve’s hand smooths along his shoulder blades. “It was only a dream.”
“I know,” Bucky croaks. His mismatched hands find their way to his face, doing little to conceal his heartache. “That’s the problem.”