Chapter Text
“What is this? Did I step into a harlequin romance without realizing it?”
“Stark, you’re being ridiculous. This is obviously an alternate reality and those two aren’t our Steve and Bucky.”
“Right, of course, the logistics of that make perfect sense. Thanks for clearing that up for me, Barton.”
“Just doing my part.”
“Clint!” Steve snaps into the comms, glowering. “Leave it alone, will you? Nothing strange is going on.”
“Cap, I really beg to differ,” Clint replies after a tense moment of silence from all sides. “If that were anyone else you’d be throwing a fit over being treated all gentle-like. Hell, I tried to give you a hug last week and you practically took a swing at me!”
Heat suffuses Steve’s cheeks as he admits, only to himself, that Clint is right. Huffing out an exasperated breath (if only for his teammates’ benefit), Steve hooks his chin over Bucky’s shoulder and hugs his knees tighter to the man’s sides. Bucky, for his part, says nothing, either through the comms or simply to Steve; he hitches Steve a little higher up his back and continues his determined march back to the quinjet, eyes forward and gait unhurried, relaxed.
When Steve had gotten knocked clean off the roof in their latest tumble with New York’s worst, Tony had made a mad dive to reach him in time, but he hadn’t been fast enough. Steve had fallen ten stories into a dumpster (which he will be leaving out of his mission report for reasons ) and broke his femur in the process. He heals fast, but a break like that’ll take a week at least, and in the meantime no one was keen on letting him hobble back to base camp. While Tony was the clear choice to transport Steve he was needed in corralling the (rather embarrassing) minions deployed by their resident bad guy, and Steve had been perfectly willing to either wait for the battle to end or (more likely) to get his feet under him and make the trek back himself.
Until Bucky showed up.
Bucky isn’t technically meant to be here, on official Avenger business; Fury still hasn’t cleared him (which Steve is a little proud of, truth be told, seeing as it means he’s kept Bucky out of SHIELD’s grasp for this long) and he isn’t known to the public as anything other than a random vigilante who likes to steal the Avengers’ spotlight. Not that Bucky cares about how the media perceives him; the only attention he pays the news is when he prints out articles that feature photos of Steve to stick to the fridge.
(Steve would be more mortified by this, but frankly, it makes Bucky happy to do it and Steve likes how happiness looks on him too much to even think about taking it away from him)
In any case, Bucky took it upon himself to ensure Steve’s return to the quinjet goes as painlessly as possible, which resulted in him swinging a spluttering Steve onto his back without so much as a word of warning and he hasn’t let him down since, despite Steve’s numerous and rather explicit protests. By now Steve’s decided the best course of action is to give in, because the only way he’s getting out of Bucky’s hold is through violence and the last thing he wants is to hurt Bucky.
So, here they are, ten minutes later and in full view of Steve’s flight-capable companions any time they dart past. Which is happening a lot, Steve’s noticed. So much so that he’s begun to suspect Stark is manufacturing reasons to put Steve and Bucky in his flight path. Clint’s nagging comments aren’t lessening his paranoia anyway, either, and Steve’s already strung out enough just from his embarrassing situation.
He’s nearly a hundred years old, he doesn’t deserve this bullshit -- especially from his so-called friends.
“Jarvis,” Steve murmurs, and the AI hums in acknowledgement through the comms. Stark thought it prudent to give Jarvis total control over the communication relays for whatever reason and none of the other Avengers had objected, so Steve had stowed his on and went along with it. He’s grateful for it now, in any case. “Me and Buck are gonna go dark for a while. I’ll let you know when we wanna go live again.”
“Of course, Captain Rogers.”
With that, there’s a faint click and then the buzzing chatter of his teammates cuts out, Stark mid-squark of protest. Steve breathes out a silent sigh of relief, dropping his forehead against the back of Bucky’s neck.
“Never thought I’d learn to appreciate silence this much,” he says, tacking on a muted laugh. Growing up in Brooklyn meant Steve never really knew quiet -- there was always the hum of the city around him, shouts and laughter drifting in through open windows in the summer, the shuffle and rattle of the other tenants in his apartment building. The war brought with it its own brand of noise, chittering wildlife and sighing winds, and the rat-tat-tat of gunfire. Silence then was never welcome; silence heralded dangers that lurked into the encroaching dark, silence was what lingered in his ears in the wake of mortar shells.
Now, though, he thinks he might like the gentle silences that settle between him and Bucky these days, when they’re seated together on the couch but not engaged with one another. Just existing peacefully in each other’s orbits. Bucky’s not usually one for lengthy conversations and Steve, in the aftermath of his emergence from the ice, can’t often muster up the wit and charm necessary for even smalltalk. The quiet wraps around them like a familiar blanket, and more than once Steve has fallen asleep stretched out beside Bucky, his feet tucked into the other man’s lap and his head pillowed against the arm rest. Bucky never seems to mind the intrusion into his personal space and Steve enjoys the liquid warmth that pools in stomach upon waking that way; it works for them, is what he’s saying, and he’s not going to be the one to put an end to their arrangement.
“Hey, Buck,” Steve says eventually, when he knows they’re nearing the quinjet, “I just wanna say, uh, thanks… for gettin’ me outta there. I know I didn’t act all that appreciative” -- Bucky snorts a laugh, which rather eloquently expresses his thoughts on that statement, and which Steve graciously ignores because he’s trying to be nice here -- “but I am, honest. You should be out there wrangling up those numbskull villains, but you can back for me and that’s… well, you’re just… you’re a swell guy, ya know? So, thanks.”
God, why is he blushing ? Steve’s no stranger to getting flustered around people (attractive, competent women especially) but he’s not normally this worked up when he’s talking to Bucky. Maybe he clocked his head harder than he thought in that fall from the roof. Groaning quietly to himself, Steve presses his face harder into Bucky’s nape, furiously willing his face to cool down as he tightens his grip on Bucky’s shoulders.
He feels Bucky squeeze his good leg comfortingly.
“You say that like I had anything more important to do.”
Steve blinks, his heart fluttering oddly in his chest. “C’mon, Bucky, don’t kid… I’ll heal alright, you know that, it’s not like I was in any danger of keeling over. You didn’t have to drop everything for me.”
From the way Bucky tosses his head, Steve suspects he’s rolling his eyes heavenward, seeking divine guidance in the face of Steve’s overwhelming stupidity. Or, at least, that’s the look his Ma used to get all the time while she was mopping up the blood from his broken nose, and he’s seen it a time or two on Bucky these last few weeks, so he’s reasonably sure that’s the look Bucky’s got on right now.
“Steve,” he chides, tilting his head to look at Steve over his shoulder. Steve doesn’t make it easy for him, ducking his face against Bucky’s neck again, his heart pounding away in his chest with something that’s probably not the remnants of his earlier adrenaline. “ Solnyshko , you’re hurt,” and that’s it, as if that explains everything.
Maybe , Steve thinks, a little stupefied, just as they're reaching the jet, maybe it does .