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It’s two weeks later when Nick Fury meets Bucky in a run-down diner a little outside of DC and offers to buy him a hamburger. Bucky, hesitantly, agrees.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, and Nick just shrugs.
“We’ll get to that in time. Right now, what do you want, kid? This place has the best burgers.”
They get their food in silence; Fury’s, companionable; Bucky’s, nervous. When they sit, it’s at the very last booth they can find, tucked away in the corner of the diner.
“What do you want from me?” Bucky asks.
“What do you remember?” replies Fury.
They stare at each other for a moment. “I--,” Bucky begins, pauses, stops. Take a breath. Repeat. “Not much. I remember Rogers, sort of. I remember a shitty apartment. I remember—I remember…”
--
Falling. Falling. Smack. Black-out.
Voices. Talking. Talking about him. Talking about a procedure. Black-out.
Mission. Target. There are things you can do, Soldier, things that will help. We need you to find him, we need you to take this gun, we need you to--
--
“Barnes,” Fury’s voice butts in. “Barnes, come back to me. It’s okay if you don’t remember a lot.”
“I wish—what I remember…he was…we were—,” he fixes Nick with a look. “I want to remember. I need to remember.”
“I think I can help with that.” Fury says.
“How? What are you doing here?”
Fury smiles, takes a bite out of his burger, says, “Have you ever heard about the Avengers Initiative?”
--
“This is a bad idea,” Bucky says. “I killed a lot of people.”
“You also saved Rogers’ life.” Fury points out. “He’d be dead without you.”
They’re standing at the entrance of a safe house, somewhere rural. S.H.I.E.L.D. had decided that Steve needed somewhere quiet to recover. The house’s current occupants were Steve, Sam, and – on occasion – any of the other Avengers as well.
“C’mon, kid,” Nick said, walking through the front door, “I have a plane to Europe leaving in two hours. I don’t have time for your angsty bullshit right now.”
The house is warm, fully furnished. Right now, there are voices coming from the kitchen.
“Gentlemen,” Bucky hears Nick say, “I have a surprise for you.”
It’s Steve who says, “You’re supposed to be in Europe.”
“Not for another two hours and a long flight. Plus, I needed to drop something off here first.”
“Well,” Sam says, “what is it?”
Fury makes a frustrated noise when he sees Bucky isn’t behind him. “Irritating, that’s what he is. Kid! Get in here!”
Sam and Steve fall silent as Bucky steps wordlessly into the room, eyes fixed to Steve’s face and nothing else. There’s something there, like a word he knows, but can’t remember. He wants to remember.
“Bucky,” Steve breathes. “Do you remember…anything?”
“Some things more than others,” Bucky replies. His voice doesn’t sound right in his ears, too soft, too utterly human, and too scared. “I remember falling, but I don’t remember why. I don’t remember—after that, I woke up. And I was,” he flexes his left arm, metal clinking softly, “you know.”
Steve nods, but it seems sad. “I know.”
Fury nods, too, like his work is done. “Well,” he says, “my work is done. I’ll see you boys soon.” He pauses by the doorway, “Take care.”
It’s quiet in the kitchen for a moment, but then Sam smiles, sticks his hand out for Bucky to shake. “I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot what with the attempts to kill each other and everything. Let’s start over. Hi, I’m Sam Wilson. Nice to meet you.”
Bucky shakes his hand, swallows. “I’m—I’m Bucky. Bucky Barnes. I don’t really know what that means yet. But I’m sorry about your wings.”
“So am I,” Sam says mournfully, “They’re in the shop, now. Getting an upgrade and everything, so I guess it’s not all bad.”
Bucky risks smiling at him, just a short upturn of his lips, and Sam smiles back.
“Hi,” Steve says, eyebrows drawn together like he’s thinking about something and—
--
“You can’t keep doing this, Steve,” Bucky smiles, helping him to his feet.
Steve’s got a busted lip and a shiner and dammit, this kid’s got trouble written into his god damn DNA.
“You don’t own me,” Rogers says. “I’m not gonna just sit down and watch things happen, Buck. Not when I could be doing something about them.” His eyebrows draw together, and Bucky smiles, drops a kiss to Steve’s forehead to even them out.
“Determined little shit.” He mutters affectionately.
Steve leans into Bucky’s arms, noses at the tendon in his neck. “You like it.”
Bucky smiles, pulls away just far enough to get an arm around Steve for support, so they can get home.
“Wouldn’t have you any other way.”
--
“Bucky!” Steve’s voice is loud, worried.
He blinks, the room is fuzzy, but slowly coming back into focus. He’s on the ground, one of Steve’s hands behind his head, and the other on his leg and he’s too close, too close, too close.
“Get back,” Bucky says, voice hoarse. He winces when Steve scrambles back like he’s been burned. He automatically wants him back, wants him closer, but he doesn’t think he can handle that right now. “Sam,” he says, and Sam, who’s been watching this scene play out, nods, “Help me up, please.”
He’s up slowly, then he’s leaning against the counter. “I’m sorry.” He says, mostly to Steve. (It’s all to Steve, if he’s being honest, but he knows he scared Sam, too.) “Flashbacks. They happen more these days, now that I’m not—they happen. You just—the way you looked at me—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Sam places a glass of water in front of him and he sips it gratefully.
Steve frowns, “Bucky, it’s alright. I didn’t mean to—it’s okay. I’m sorry I triggered something. I should have been more careful.”
Sam nods, “It’s not your fault, Bucky. Not at all. Sometimes, there are things we can’t control. It’s alright that they happen, but you can’t blame yourself for them happening.”
Bucky nods, but he doesn’t really get it. He doesn’t get how they don’t know how much he can’t forgive himself. He killed people, innocent people. He tried to kill Steve. Steve, who he knows now was always something more, has always been something else to him; something he isn’t sure that he still has. For a moment, he thinks that this is what it’s like to be floating alone in the middle of the ocean.
--
“You’re insane,” Rogers whispers, close to his ear. Warm breath washes over his cheek and he can’t take it anymore, presses Steve back against a wall, pride tingling when he goes willingly.
“We can’t do this, we’re right outside the barracks. Someone will see us—” He swallows down Steve’s half-assed worries in a kiss, teeth clicking harshly.
“I missed you,” Bucky smiles, “Missed your hair, your skin, you. Missed you.”
“Shut up and kiss me, Buck,” Steve grins, hooking his fingers in Bucky’s belt loops to pull him closer.
“Fuck,” Bucky hisses sharply as Steve’s hips grind against his. “Thought I’d never see you again. When I was in there — thought it was—thought I was a goner, thought—”
“I know,” Steve whispers, “I thought I lost you.” He’s pressing kisses to whatever parts of Bucky’s face and jaw and throat he can reach, like he’s desperate for something to hold on to. His lips finally land on Bucky’s mouth, and he understands because when Steve’s lips seal over his it feels like a lifeline.
Scene end. Settings shift. New voices, new people, new faces. No Steve.
“He’s going to be magnificent,” a voice says. “But useless now. The war is over.”
“We’ll need him eventually. When the time comes, he’ll be ready.”
Cold. Too cold. His limbs feel heavy, slow, frozen. The door closes.
His lips try and form the words to let him out he wants Steve go on Bucky try and ask for help he doesn’t want this he wants out and—
--
He wakes up with a start. They set him up in one of the spare rooms, and he’s not sure if it’s just this room, but the mattress is too soft. His real hand is slick with sweat when he reaches up to push hair out of his face.
He paces around the room for a while, scrubs his face with water, pulls his hair back with a ponytail holder.
Opening the window doesn’t really help, so instead he shuts it and walks to the kitchen. Where Sam is sitting at the breakfast bar.
“Can’t sleep?” he asks.
“I can,” Bucky says, “but it’s not the sleeping that’s the problem.”
“It’s the dreams,” Sam says. “I know.”
Bucky looks at him curiously, but nods. Sam slides an extra glass of water across the counter, and Bucky smiles, small. They’re silent for a few moments, but Bucky’s smarter than that.
“You have questions,” he tells Sam. “Ask them. Just – a fair warning, I don’t know if I’ll have the answers.”
“I wouldn’t expect you too,” Sam says. “I just have one, really. Feel free to answer it however you want, but I think if you talk about it, it’ll help you remember more. Before the fall, before—you know, what do you remember?”
Bucky frowns, staring imperiously at his glass of water like it has all of the answers.
“I remember, I mean…it’s all fuzzy. It’s mostly just bits and pieces. The thing is—I don’t remember anything before him. Before Steve, I mean. It’s like, the earliest back I can remember is high school, and that’s not really—those ones are just feelings. Just colors and vague images.”
“Okay,” Sam says, quietly, “You don’t have to think too hard. What’s the clearest memory right now?”
Bucky thinks back to the first part of his dream, how Steve had kissed him like he was something precious, something worth fighting for, and he felt the heat color his face.
Sam chuckles. “Nice, Bucky.”
“No,” he says, “I mean—it’s not, some of the flashbacks. Steve, we…” he pauses, hands shaking just a little where they were clutching the glass. “I don’t know if that’s memory or if it’s just—I don’t know how much of what I remember really happened. I don’t know, I don’t--”
He stops, breathing harder than he realized. His hands are shaking harder now, and Sam nods. “Drink your water, Bucky. I think you and Steve should talk in the morning. I’ll see you then.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Bucky whispers to the empty kitchen.
He sits in the kitchen until the dark of the sky fades into a gray, and then to a pink. Just as the sun starts to rise, Steve walks in.
“Bucky,” he says.
He lifts his head, stares at Steve. He stares until something clicks, soothing and warm in his chest. He smiles.
“Morning.”
“Morning to you, too,” Steve replies, smiling just a little. “You sleep well?”
“Not a wink, really,” Bucky admits.
“Yeah,” Steve says, “Yeah, at the beginning, it’s like that.”
“Yeah,” Bucky says.
Steve putters around the kitchen quietly, but when his hands pour a cup of coffee, plain and black, and set it in front of Bucky wordlessly, Bucky freezes.
--
“I still can’t believe you drink black coffee,” Steve said, wrinkling his nose from the doorway.
“It’s the only way to drink coffee, asshole. Just accept that it’s the most god awful bitter thing in the world, but you still drink it every morning.” Steve snorted, but Bucky just grinned. “Besides, you love me despite my horrid taste in coffee.”
They both froze. It’s the first time they’ve ever – this had never been anything serious, they agreed to keep it as just, you know, friends, who happened to enjoy kissing each other. Happened to enjoy it a lot.
Steve smiles, like sunlight breaking through the clouds, “Yeah. Yeah, you’re damned right I do. But I still don’t think humans are actually supposed to just drink plain black coffee.”
“Come on, Steve,” Bucky whined, “just give it here.”
He curled up tighter beneath the blankets, until only his eyes were watching as Steve held his coffee cup just out of reach.
“I don’t know, Buck,” Steve said, eyes sparkling, “I don’t know you’ve done anything to earn it.”
Bucky laughed despite himself. “You’re like one of those damned lap dogs, the ones who think they’re actually Shepherds.”
“Aw, is that any way to earn this coffee? Insulting me? I could think of plenty better things you could be doing with that mouth, Buck.”
“Well c’mere, then.” Bucky grinned, throwing open the blankets.
--
The coffee cup stares at him, dark liquid stark against the plain white of the mug.
“You alright?” Steve asks, voice betraying his cool demeanor.
“Yeah,” Bucky smiles a little, “Yeah, I just. The flashbacks, some of it – I’m not sure if they’re things that really happened, you know? I’m not sure how much is real, and how much I want to be real.”
“Like what?”
Bucky freezes, heart beating too fast. “Like, you knowing how I drink my coffee.”
Steve’s hands still as he’s pulling things out of the fridge. He stares at Bucky for a second, like he’s trying to measure exactly what Bucky’s feeling, what he’s thinking.
When he speaks, his words are soft, careful. He speaks slowly, willing Bucky to stop him, tell him to shut up. He says, “I still can’t believe you drink your coffee black.”
Bucky takes a deep breath in, out, in and out. He counts to three in his minds. He takes another breath. The seconds tick by painfully slowly.
“It’s the only way to drink coffee,” he says, voice low, but sure. He smiles up at Steve, careful. “Asshole.”
Steve sucks in a breath, makes a strange noise from the back of his throat, but he’s smiling. He takes a step towards the counter, moves like he’s going to reach out, stops himself. “Bucky,” he breathes.
“I don’t--,” Bucky begins, “I don’t remember it all. I don’t remember more than I do. But I just, there are things I do remember, I wasn’t sure if maybe – Steve, I don’t know if I’m making these things up, but--,”
“You aren’t,” Steve says quietly. “We don’t have to—I mean, things are different, really different, and I know that both of us are different, too, but—God, you aren’t making that up. Not that. Not us.”
The knowledge burns through his veins like wildfire. “Not us.” He mutters, “Okay, okay. Just, I don’t think—not right now, anyways. I need to remember. Everything.”
Steve nods, quickly, “Yeah, yeah. I wouldn’t—I don’t expect, I mean--”
His thought breaks off into a laugh, and then he’s smiling. He’s smiling at Bucky like this moment, in this kitchen, still in their pajamas and holding cups of coffee and the sun shining just out the window, like this is the best god damn place he could be right now.
Maybe it is. It sort of feels like it.
“Good morning, early bir--,” Sam’s voice cuts off as he walks into the kitchen. “Oh.”
Steve moves away from Bucky quickly, and even though his hand feels cold from the loss of contact, he smiles at Sam. “Morning.”
“I know I said you should talk, Bucky, but damn,” Sam shakes his head slowly. Steve cocks an eyebrow at Bucky, and he shrugs. Steve rolls his eyes as if to say ‘what am I gonna do with you.’ Bucky lifts his cup in a mock toast, mouths, ‘try and keep up.’
Sam watches the exchange, before grabbing a cup of coffee and groaning, “I’m getting too old for this shit.”
Steve and Bucky just stare at him.
“Uh, right. Sorry, grandpas.”
Steve snorts, and Bucky hides a laugh in his coffee cup.
--
“I never wanted to be in the army,” Bucky says one night, when they’re sitting on the couch. Sam’s asleep. They’re sitting with their feet tangled together, sitting too close to be nothing at all.
Steve pauses, looks at him, “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you always wanted to enlist so badly, like it was what you were made for. I never wanted that. I always—the thought of fighting, of losing you to some war, I hated it. Then I was drafted.” His voice is bitter. It’s been three days since the memories started coming back full-swing, whatever residual effects of whatever was blocking them is wearing off. Some are good.
Some aren’t so good.
“I always thought you enlisted,” Steve says quietly.
“I was drafted,” Bucky says, “I knew you wanted to fight, and I didn’t know how to tell you I wouldn’t be there if they weren’t making me.”
Steve sighs, but doesn’t move away. Instead, he leans further into Bucky’s space, dropping his head on Bucky’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have really been mad, you know.”
“If I told you,” Bucky wonders aloud, “back then. What do you think would have happened?”
Steve snorts, twists until his feet are on the opposite end of the couch, his head in Bucky’s lap.
“I would have yelled, and so would you. We would have yelled at each other until neither of us remembered what we were yelling about.”
Bucky winces because, yeah, yeah he remembers there being a lot of yelling. Mostly about stupid things. One of Steve’s hands grabs his chin lightly, making Bucky look at him.
“Then you would have admitted something, something big, probably. Something about feelings.” He sighs, fondly. His hand drops and his eyes close, like he’s watching a movie behind his eyelids. There’s a small smile on his face. “Feelings, we never talked about them unless we had to. Or one of us was drunk as hell.
We would have stopped fighting. Because no matter what, no matter how infuriating you were being, I always made sure we never went to bed angry with each other. It was something my mother said. To never go to bed angry at the person you’re sharing a bed with. And even—even if I didn’t like it, I would have understood why you were upset about being drafted.”
He pauses, cracking his eyes open. Sometime during Steve’s little speech, he had started running mechanical fingers through his hair. Muscle memory where there wasn’t any muscle left to remember.
“I would have forgiven you,” Steve admits softly, eyes drinking in Bucky’s face. He wonders briefly what Steve is seeing there. “Before I even closed my eyes.”
Bucky nods, wordlessly. Because he remembers that, too. He remembers Steve being too good for him, too good for anyone. He tells Steve as much then, in a single hushed breath, and holds up a hand before Steve can argue.
“What I mean is,” Bucky breathes, “I remember thinking that you were so...so incredible. Fiercely protective, and determined to a fault, and recklessly proud of anyone you loved. Even if they weren’t the best people, really. I remember not being one of the best people. You--,” he pauses, shutting his eyes and breathing a laugh, “I remember one day you looked at me, when we were walking home, and you looked at me. I asked you what you were thinking about. You looked at me and told me you didn’t understand why terrible things happened to good people. And I just smiled and told you—”
“I’m not of the good people,” Steve mutters, “I’m one of the terrible things.”
Bucky nods, doesn’t breathe. “You said you read that somewhere,” Steve continues, “and I smacked you upside the head and told you to try and see yourself like I saw you. That you weren’t one of the terrible things, you were just a victim of circumstance.”
“Bet you wouldn’t say that to me now,” Bucky grins bitterly.
“I would, too,” Steve says, sitting up. He fixes Bucky with a look, eyes blazing. “You’re a good person, Bucky Barnes. You think it’s your fault that they decided to use a good person as a weapon?”
Bucky turns so they they’re sitting cross-legged on the couch, facing each other. He still doesn’t meet Steve’s gaze. His voice, when he speaks, is hoarse, “Why me, Steve? There were so many—so many others they could have used. So many other people to turn into weapons in a war I never even wanted to fight. Why’d they have to choose me?”
Steve rests his forehead against his, and their breathing has evened out and synced up before he responds.
“Because you’re the one person that could hurt me the most.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Bucky whispers, hands shaking as they tangle in the soft fabric of Steve’s shirt. “I don’t want to. Not again.”
Steve leans back just far enough to press a kiss to his forehead, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s shoulders. “You won’t, Buck,” he mumbles against his skin, and it sounds like a promise.
--
It’s two months later. His memories have almost all come back, the good and the bad. He’s healing. He’s not completely better, a far cry from it, but he’s healing. Sam is in and out, training at S.H.I.E.L.D. most days, getting his wings back.
He and Steve have worked out almost everything, almost. Never going too far, never pushing anything, but still moving forward, one step at a time. Even now, during Steve’s miniature freak out.
“This was a bad idea,” Steve says, pressing close to Bucky’s side.
“Nah,” Sam says, grinning, “it’ll be fine.”
Bucky leans further into Steve’s side as they wait in the living room. Steve tangles their fingers together. His metal arm is flexing, the familiar not-really-feeling of miniscule gears whirring and clicking is comforting.
“Was this a bad idea?” Steve asks no one in particular.
“Nonsense, Cap,” Tony Stark says as he struts into the living room, Pepper by his side. “I think this is a fabulous idea.”
“Only because you didn’t have to cook,” Pepper mutters. “Ass.”
“You offered!” Tony exclaims. Then his eyes land on Bucky, and he smirks. “You must be Barnes. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I’m sorry to say the only things I’ve heard about you are all rude,” he says, fingers tightening around Steve’s as he shakes Stark’s hand with the other arm.
Pepper reappears beside Tony and grins, “Then they’re probably all true.”
“Definitely all true,” Sam agrees.
“I resent that,” Stark says. “Both of you.” He turns and walks into the kitchen, and Sam follows.
Pepper gives Steve a quick hug, eyes Bucky’s hand in his and winks. Steve’s face heats, and Pepper just laughs. “I’ll leave you two to entertain. I need to go make sure my idiot doesn’t ruin your safe house.”
Steve groans, scrubs his free hand over his face. “We’re so utterly screwed, Buck.”
Bucky just smiles, real and warm, and pulls Steve closer, bumping their noses together gently. “I don’t know,” he murmurs, “I like your friends. They’re gonna give me a chance to tell embarrassing stories about you.”
Steve frowns at him, “You wouldn’t.”
Bucky just kisses the pout off of Steve’s lips, “I so would.”
Steve just smiles, shaking his head, before pulling Bucky back into the kiss. It’s new and familiar and Bucky’s still not used to the fact that he gets to have this. This is alright, more than alright, and he can kiss Steve Rogers whenever he wants.
“As much as I hate to interrupt, love birds,” Tony says, grinning from the doorway, “There’s a large, angry green man in your backyard.”
“Respectfully, Mr. Stark,” Bruce says, walking in through the back door, “I’m going to ask you to shove it.”
“As you wish, Dr. Banner,” Tony bows, backing out of the room.
“Mr. Rogers,” Bruce says warmly, “It’s good to see you again.”
“You, too, Doc,” Steve says.
“And Mr. Barnes, it’s good to meet you.”
Bucky smiles, shaking Banner’s hand. “You, too. It’s nice to meet the people who kept this idiot alive while I was out of commission.”
Bruce laughs, saluting them both before moving to drop off the food he brought in the kitchen.
“Evil,” Steve says, hooking his fingers in Bucky’s belt loops, “You are evil.”
“Easy there, tiger,” Bucky laughs, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck. Steve’s own hands shift, burning like a brand on his hips when they slide up under Bucky’s shirt. “We have company.”
“They can deal with it,” Steve murmurs, kissing Bucky once, twice light as air, only catching on the third kiss, and Bucky feels drunk on this moment.
“Okay, really? I know you’re reunited at last and all that Nicolas Sparks bullshit, but this is ridiculous,” Sam says, throwing his hands up in defeat, “I LIVE HERE, TOO!”
Bucky dissolves into laughter, shoulders shaking where he presses his face into Steve’s neck. Steve’s face is redder than ever, and Bucky can’t help but kiss him one last time, before grabbing his hands. “Come on, Romeo, let’s go entertain the masses.”
“God help me,” Steve mutters, “but I actually have a good feeling about this.”
--
It actually ends up being a really good night.
Natasha and Clint show up halfway through dinner, and she throws her arms around Steve in a hug. Clint and Bucky talk quietly for a while, and when he comes back, he leans into Steve’s space and wraps his arms around his waist. Steve just holds on.
Thor and Stark are debating Asgardian vs. Midgardian technology, while Banner and Jane Foster discuss things Steve only sort of understands. Pepper and Natasha are discussing weapons while Clint just watches Natasha talk with a smile on his face.
“You okay?” he asks Bucky.
Bucky just smiles and nods against Steve’s shoulder. “As it turns out, Clint and I have some similar experiences.”
He knows Steve is remembering when Hawkeye was being controlled by Loki, when Natasha had thought she had lost him to a battle he never wanted to be a part of.
Bucky kisses his jaw softly when it twitches, Steve’s eyebrows drawing into a hard line, “Don’t think too hard about it, kid.”
When he looks up, the kitchen is empty.
“Where’d everyone go?” Steve asks.
“Got sick of watching the Steve and Bucky Show,” Sam says from behind them. “Come on, you two. Everyone’s outside. Natasha brought fireworks.”
Steve rolls his eyes, “Of course she did.”
--
They all watch the fireworks go off with smiles on their faces, and Steve tucks his chin over Bucky’s shoulder.
“We’re gonna be alright, huh?” he asks. “I mean, we’re gonna have to leave this house soon, and get to work, but whenever that happens, we’re gonna be alright.”
Bucky twists in Steve’s arms, cupping Steve’s face in his hands. “No matter what, Steve, we’re gonna be alright. And no matter what, I’m with you. To the end of the line, remember?”
Steve smiles, bumps his forehead against Bucky’s forehead, “To the end of the line.”
All around them, people are laughing and fireworks are going off, but Steve is the only thing he can see. It’s a pretty damned good view.