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"You shaved."
Steve lifts a hand to his cheek—stubble, yes, but he knows Bucky means the beard he'd worn five years ago. He turns his head, giving a small smile, barely more than a press of his lips, but his eyes show it's real.
"Yeah, turns out beards aren't really my thing."
Bucky smirks and steps into the bathroom, not invited but not discouraged. Steve turns the rest of the way, resting his backside against the sink counter. He folds his arms across his bare chest, still feeling just a little too much like Cap, not enough like Steve. But he's not tense, because it's Bucky.
"I'm not sure I would have ever believed you could even grow one," Bucky says, leaning against the doorframe.
"I don't think we would have believed anything about what our lives became, Buck."
"Heh, you got that right."
Steve looks at Bucky for a long moment, then pushes himself up and nods towards the hall. No one wants to live alone right now, and while Steve would have been more than happy to have as many who stood by his side in the last battle crammed into his apartment as possible, a part of him was glad to have this time alone with Bucky.
They walk the few steps to Steve's room, and Steve sits on the edge of the bed, gesturing for Bucky to sit next to him, but his old friend carefully ignores the invitation and presses his back to the wall, sliding down to the ground. He can still see the door, see the window. Bucky isn't ready to be vulnerable yet.
"I still can't believe it's been five years."
Steve nods, then he falls back on the bed, arms out to his side. He's been ready to be vulnerable since he was unfrozen, and a little more of Cap slips away tonight. "They weren't easy years."
"You seem to have survived it well." Buck snorts. "I mean, until that last bit there where you tried to take on an evil megalomaniac with just your fists and a shield."
"And a hammer!" Steve grins, he can't help it, now that he's out of the moment. The rush of lightning through him, the pull he felt after throwing it and knowing it would return to him—is that how Thor feels all the time?
Bucky's laughing now. "I don't think I actually believe that. Trick of the eyes or something. Hard to see what's really going on in a fight like that and all."
"On my mother's grave, Buck, I was deemed worthy." His grin softens, and the giddiness fades into contentment. He feels all Steve now, as he folds his hands over his stomach. "It was awesome."
"Not really surprised," Bucky says, softer now, a lot more affection in his voice than Steve expected. "That you were worthy, I mean. You've always been a worthy fool, barreling into places you have no rights being."
"Couldn't lift it last time I tried."
"That surprises me. You sure you really couldn't, or did you just believe it wasn't possible?"
Steve closes his eyes, not feeling like explaining space god magic to Bucky right now, and possibly avoiding that amount of introspection on a quiet night at last.
They don't talk for a few minutes, maybe as many as ten, and then there's a stir and the sound of jeans on the bedspread, and Steve feels the bed dip. The cool metal of Buck's arm brushes against his own arm, and he opens his eyes.
"What do we do next?"
Steve takes a deep breath. "I'm not sure. We've all been trying to figure that out. It's hard without Stark. We always needed him." Bucky scoffs, and Steve shakes his head. "No, we really did. He had his moments, and you would absolutely not be here right now without him."
"It was good to be away from it all, you know? In a hut, tending to goats. I didn't have to think about all the bad shit I went through. What I caused." He wipes a hand over his face. "Stark was a very blatant reminder of all that."
"He was glad you were there. That you came back."
Bucky just grunts, accepting it as much as he can for now. "He moved on in those years, though. Cute kid."
"Yeah. Something I never could quite do."
There's a pause. "Why was it different this time? You moved on when you, when you got here." He gestures vaguely. "Hell, that's what I was trying in Wakanda, trying that moving on thing. Coulda nailed it if you didn't come begging on your knees for me to help again."
"I've never been on—" He looks over and Bucky is just giving a look, and Steve laughs, feeling his cheeks heat. "I didn't have to beg this time, anyway. "
Bucky lets him off the hook. "No. This was something worth fighting for. Even if I disintegrated, or whatever the hell that was."
"What do you remember from...then? There?" Sam had told him that it felt like he was fading out, then woke up like he'd just had a dream.
"Nothing." Bucky's voice is flat, not particularly upset, but empty. "I don't think there was a there, anyway. It's like it wasn't long enough for that." He scratches his chin, mulling it over. "I was just... not feeling right, I saw myself turn to dust, and then nothing. And then I was back. It was—" Bucky swallows hard. "It was like when they read the words to me, I guess. And then when I'd wake up after."
Steve just watches Bucky as he talks. Bucky seems tired, hardly a surprise after the craziness of the last few days; Steve hasn't slept much, and to his knowledge, neither has Bucky.
"It didn't feel like five years, that's for sure." Bucky tries to shake off the mood, inject some levity back into everything. "Even for you, it doesn't look much like five years have passed."
Steve laughs, derisive. "The difference between one hundred and one hundred and five isn't really that obvious when you get down to it."
"Christ," Bucky whispers, to himself but clear enough. "I wish we had more time."
They're both silent for a moment, and then the laughter starts, deep belly laughs that come from the ridiculousness of two old men who have been given more time than either ever asked for wishing they had even more now.
And yet….
When the laughter subsides, they're both sprawled across the bed, the cool metal of Bucky's arm pressed against Steve's side, and Steve's hand ruffling Bucky's hair. He can remember how it felt to be on the receiving end of that affectionate touch. The same gesture from Bucky had always felt tinged with pity, but he hopes Bucky only reads the affection Steve intends.
"What happens next?" Bucky asks again, though maybe it isn't quite the same question as the first time.
Steve closes his eyes; he's not sure, even though he does know that someone has one more mission to complete. "We have to return the Stones. In time."
"We?" There's a shift against his side as Bucky moves his arm, but only enough to roll up on it and let his whole body press alongside Steve's. "Is there a team?"
He keeps his eyes closed, licks his lips. "No, probably just one person will go."
"Shit, wonder who that could be."
Has he ever caught Bucky off guard? Has he ever in his life been able to do anything that his friend didn't see coming? Maybe just when he rescued him, the very first time, but even then, Buck took it in stride.
"We'll have to see who volunteers," is all that Steve says now.
"Don't let the raccoon do it," Bucky cautions. "He'd just go back and steal my arm."
"He might still steal your arm now," Steve says with a snicker. "Maybe he'll sneak over after picking up Thor, before they head to... wherever that crew is headed. Space." A rush of boyish glee runs through him again. "I went to space! I was on another goddamned planet." He shakes his head. "It has been a very strange few days, over the course of years."
"I wish I could have been there," Bucky says, "if only so I could have seen your face."
Steve looks at Bucky, his eyes a little wide—not holy shit I'm in space wide, but close. "I wish you could have seen it. But you still can. It'll probably only cost you an—"
"Shut up," Bucky says, and then he kisses Steve.
The first time they'd kissed, they were on sofa cushions on the floor and scared to death that they'd be caught. It never went much further than hidden, furtive kisses on the sly for a couple years, until Bucky started noticing girls, and it became clear that puberty was never going to be Steve's savior. Then the war, Bucky's orders, Steve's crazy last hope to help his country, and by the time there maybe could have been a chance...well, then there was Peggy.
And Steve sometimes wondered, if Bucky hadn't gone missing at all, at least if he hadn't lost him, could he have had them both?
He tucks the idea back in his mind to consider later, because there's something that's sparking back there, or—oh—or maybe it's Buck's mouth on his throat, and God, maybe he should have kept the beard, because a beard can hide things….
Steve shifts so he's fully on his back, which is almost strange, because this feels almost relaxed, and he can't remember the last time he was relaxed, at least like this, with this man. It maybe never happened.
Then Bucky grabs Steve's bare forearm, and the shock of the cool metal makes him gasp and then laugh, almost a giggle, and Bucky pulls back to glare at him. "Laughing at a disfigured war vet, Captain?" He tsks, shaking his head, and very poorly hides a wry smile. "I thought you understood respect better."
Steve raises his eyebrows. "Respect would be wrapping that thing up." He pauses. "Your arm, I mean."
"It'll warm up." Bucky grabs Steve's face in both hands, the skin and metal difference distracting but not entirely unpleasant, especially once Bucky kisses him again, harder. Steve's own hands push into Bucky’s hair, getting it twisted around his fingers, and when it pulls even slightly, Bucky groans into the kiss. This is going to escalate, there’s no way this can end any other way, and Steve’s glad, relieved even, because as much as he’s thought of Peggy lately, getting Bucky back was also enormously important to him.
And it’s going to stay important even as he starts to make plans.
He’s with Bucky to the end of the line, but this won’t be the end yet.