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Moving around camp, helping the injured into cots and taking stock of all the weapons they’d stolen from the HYDRA base, had kept him busy and distracted and warm. As he sat on the dirt bunker the 107th had built three months ago, helping the SSR set-up their base camp, Bucky shivered. The November breezes in Northern Italy were colder than he thought. He probably should have grabbed a jacket.
Except, he’d needed to walk away. Right then. There hadn’t been time for a jacket. Right when Steve turned to him and grabbed his upper arm in this fierce grip, with hands too large, not yet knowing his own strength, Bucky knew he’d had to walk away. Steve had smiled at him and said something that Bucky didn’t quite hear. He could only feel. He felt the way Steve held his arm so tight it should have hurt. No, it did hurt. It was painful, and it also felt good.
Bucky needed to walk away.
So much had happened, more than he could put his head around. He had Steve there. God, he’d missed Steve. But this wasn’t quite Steve. He had Steve’s face and voice and spirit. He had Steve’s memories and thoughts and smile.
He had another man’s body.
“Bucky? I've been looking all over for you.”
For a second, Bucky considered taking off again. He needed more time to think than this, but Steve had kept him in close proximity. Steve hovered the way Bucky imagined he’d hovered back in Brooklyn.
“Ye--yeah, sorry.” Bucky coughed, trying to buy a second more, trying to clear his head. “I shouldn't have wandered off, not after everything. I just needed—“ He hesitated: needed what? Needed to sort through his feelings? Needed to understand why he felt so unsure around Steve now? Bucky shrugged and pressed forward with a fake smile. “Needed to take a deep breath.”
He stared at Steve again, his smile fading. “Look at you.”
Steve shrugged and made a half grin. When he did those gestures, shrugs and wry looks, Bucky could see the Steve he’d grown up with, even amidst this taller, stronger form.
“You keep saying that,” Steve said.
“I know, but Steve...Look at you.” Bucky hadn’t stopped looking; he knew he hadn’t, even if he didn’t want to think how he hadn’t. Not from the moment he saw Steve’s face appear out of a haze of pain and fog of medication and Bucky felt the release of his arms from the leather straps which had held him to a cold, metal table for longer than he even knew: he hadn’t stopped staring.
As he’d stumbled into Steve’s arms during the rescue and felt the muscles and his thick arms encircling his torso to hold him up, Bucky hadn’t stopped thinking, either.
He knew he’d always loved Steve. He knew his feelings for Steve were...different from those he’d had for other friends. He knew Steve had always been so important to him.
But he’d not realized what that really meant.
He’d had dreams, but he always made himself forget them. Except for one. This one came again and again, even when he tried to pretend such a thing wasn’t possible. This dream was always the same: he’d touch Steve’s face and kiss his mouth, then he’d hold him close as their boots sank into the muck along the shore of the Hudson. He’d had that dream with HYDRA, when they drugged him.
Why couldn’t he stop thinking about it now? He shook his head and looked away. “I keep thinking of the last time I saw you.”
“Oh,” Steve said, “Yeah.” Steve lowered himself down to sit beside Bucky, so close their thighs touched. Bucky forced himself not to move away. “You worried me, showing up in the middle of the night like that.”
Bucky looked down at his hands. He’d been given a roll of gauze by one of the medics after he’d refused to sit long enough to let them look him over. He knew about the needle-stick marks they’d find. He remembered, at HYDRA, how they’d held a flame close to his skin to see if he’d tolerate the pain. He imagined it left a mark. He didn’t want anyone to see that and ask questions he couldn’t—or wasn’t prepared—to answer. He kept unrolling and rolling the gauze until it started to tear. He’d worked it down to mere bits of cloth now.
“Yeah, I know. But I wasn’t trying to worry you. I just needed to say goodbye again.” That time, after the World’s Fair, after Maggie had basically rejected him because he kept talking about Steve. Just before shipping out, he’d needed to see Steve again.
Steve made a snort pressed up against a laugh. “That's what that was? I figured you were just worrying about little Steve again.”
The way Steve said “little Steve”, a mocking touch to the words, brought Bucky out of his inner, scrambling thoughts for a moment. He always had such faith in Steve, believed in him so much that, in a way, Steve had already seemed large to Bucky. He was large of heart and conviction and spirit. To see him now, it was easy to forget how desperate he’d been to join the army at any cost. Maybe this change had been more about making his outside match what already existed inside.
“Maybe.” Bucky could have done a snort-laugh too, at himself: Of course he had been worrying. He worried now. Bucky tugged another bit of cloth free from the rest. “Could you have died?”
“From the experiment?”
Bucky nodded, then looked at Steve again.
“I don’t know.” Steve shrugged. “I didn't really think about that.”
“Didn’t think about that?” Bucky didn’t even hesitate to respond this time. He turned so he could look right at Steve. “I would have hunted you down and killed you if you'd died doing this...” He gestured the roll of gauze up and down at Steve’s body. “This thing.”
Steve laughed. “I hate to point out the obvious, Buck, but you'd probably be dead if I didn't do this thing.”
Bucky caught his breath for a second, then covered it with a snort. “Yeah, probably.” Steve had seen the machines that were collected around Bucky at HYDRA. Did he know? What all had he seen? Did he realize what they’d done to him?
Bucky glanced at Steve again. God, he was thinking too much; he had a headache now.
“Guess I won't be dragging your half-beaten ass out of alleys anymore.”
Steve nodded, smiling. “Guess not.”
Bucky thought of those times, of wiping blood from Steve’s face, dusting off his jacket. He remembered once when Steve had fought back so hard he’d started breathing funny, wheezing, and Bucky rushed him to Doc Morgan on Fulton Street for a shot of adrenaline. Had even that changed?
“Do you feel all right? Your asthma, is your breathing all right?” Bucky asked. It was starting to feel more natural now, talking to Steve, as he always had. His face and his eyes were exactly the same, at least.
“I feel good, it's all gone. The asthma, my funny heart beats, all of it. Gone. I feel the best I've ever felt in my life.”
“Well.” So everything was fixed. Steve had the body of a warrior, fought like a soldier. What did he need Bucky around for then? Bucky rubbed his head again. He had to get away from his thoughts; they were dragging him down.
“Do you want to know why I feel so good?”
Bucky closed his eyes as he continued rubbing his forehead. “Because you have the perfect body?”
Steve sighed; Bucky wondered if he was frustrating him. He had to sense how awkward Bucky felt. Maybe that was why he kept trying so hard.
“I feel the best I could because I'm sitting here with you again.” Steve shifted that last half-inch closer and put his arm around Bucky’s shoulder. He drew him close; their faces were barely apart. “I missed you, Bucky,” Steve added, softly said for how close they were.
Suddenly all Bucky could think about was that dream, the one that’d come to him under torture and pain, the fantasy of seeing Steve again and having the courage to lean close, share a breath with him and to kiss his soft mouth.
Then Bucky realized he was about to do it, leaning in to give way to the fantasy. In a fright, he turned, moving so fast his head started spinning and he landed forward on his palms, half twisted away from Steve. The roll of gauze tumbled away.
“Hey, you all right?” But of course, Steve was still right there, his hand at the small of Bucky’s back, which didn’t help at all. “Are you going to be sick?”
Bucky shifted forward, crawling, just a little, enough to remove Steve’s hand and to catch his breath. “Uh, maybe? I don’t know. My head's spinning a little. I’ll be fine.”
“I told you to see the medic.”
Bucky sat back down, further away from Steve, but facing him. He shrugged, faking bravado as he often did back in Brooklyn. “I'm breathing, aren't I? After all that, I'm lucky to be breathing. Don't worry, Steve.”
Steve shrugged. “I can’t help it.”
“What? Don’t tell me you learned from some jerk how to worry too much?”
Steve seemed to sag; his broad shoulders slanting ever so slightly, but enough that Bucky could notice. “Bucky, you know how much I was always glad you were there. You saved my ass more times than I can count, in so many ways.”
Bucky swallowed hard; this conversation he possibly dreaded more than his fantasies. “But you don’t need me anymore.”
It surprised Bucky how hurt Steve looked, all furrowed brow and down-turned lips. Had he not seen that thought coming? Had he not considered that Bucky had lost his place at his side?
Steve shook his head. “No. I need you.”
Bucky felt his heart start pounding, skipping a beat the way Steve—Brooklyn Steve—always described his heart condition: “Like my heart tripped walking up the stairs really fast.”
He honestly wanted to kiss him, so much, so deeply, he thought he might start to cry, left empty by this hole he didn’t know he had until today. Not until Steve appeared for real—not as a fantasy, not as a dream—and carried him to safety.
Oh God. He was in love with him.
Bucky swallowed hard and looked up at the sky, hoping the tears would dry fast. He faked a laugh. “Have you seen you? I think you’ll be fine on your own.”
Steve climbed up and bridged the small distance between them. He sat and faced Bucky. His face was just like the one Bucky knew from Brooklyn, ready for a fight, determined and intense.
“No, you listen to me.” Steve’s voice had an edge to it. “Strength doesn’t take the place of friendship. I didn’t stay with you because of your size, because you might be there to finish up a fight or save me from one. I wanted you around because you’re my friend.” Steve reached out and laid his hands on Bucky’s knees. “These days, you’re my family.”
Perhaps it was the word family that finally brought Bucky out of his tormented mind and terrified thoughts. Yes, of course, they were family. They were all each other had right now in this forsaken land, in the middle of a war. He needed to pull himself together.
Bucky shook his head, then nodded, gathering his wits. “Of course, of course,” he said, breathless. “You’re right. Me, too, Steve, always.” He nodded again. “You’re my family, my best friend.”
Steve moved forward and pulled Bucky into a hug; he didn’t even give him the chance to resist.
They held each other for a moment before Steve whispered against Bucky’s ear. “Nothing’s changed, right? You’re still my best friend, right?”
Bucky supposed just as he feared being nothing at Steve’s side, Steve feared that Bucky would be threatened by Steve’s changes. They both clung to each other, desperate to know that they still had this friendship they could depend on.
But Bucky knew something more. That everything had changed. Not so much because Steve’s body was different, but because he’d realized something he’d been fighting against for more years than he knew. Everything had changed and he couldn’t look at Steve the same way again.
But for Steve, Bucky would always lie. Some lies were for the best. “Of course,” he said, sounding so sincere he nearly convinced himself. “Nothing’s changed.”
“Good, good,” Steve said. “You’ll always be my best friend.”
Bucky’s throat felt too tense with emotion for him to speak; he just held Steve tighter.
END