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“You are so brave and quiet I forget you are suffering.” Ernest Hemingway
Retirement wasn’t an easy thing for Steve. It wasn’t easy for a man who had lived decades fighting with every breath to sit back and surrender the reigns to others. Logically he knew it was the right thing to do, that more than anything the world needed a Captain America that wasn’t on the brink of falling apart. But emotionally, he still felt like he needed to get up, strap the shield to his arm and fight.
So, he gave it up. All of it. The title, the shield - the fight not so much. That was ingrained into his DNA in a way he would never be able to give up. But he was getting better at knowing when to ignore the nagging voice in his head telling he couldn’t stop. And when he decided to pack his bags and move out of the Avengers compound, he knew he wasn’t alone. Bucky was with him.
It’s been years since everyone came back - since ‘The Blip’. Since he could hold Sam and Bucky in his arms and not be haunted by their dusting. He didn’t know whether Bucky would want to move with him after everything. But Bucky just called him a dumbass and reminded him that he meant every word when he said he would follow Steve anywhere. And he did, and Steve was grateful for it everyday.
Steve’s retirement was mundane. Nothing special or ground breaking that some might expect from the former Captain America. He spent his good days outside in the sun, soaking up the beating rays of light hoping they’d reach the deepest, darkest parts of him. He spent a lot of time learning; learning his art again, learning cooking, and learning about himself. After decades of being Captain America, he’d forgotten who Steve Rogers was and it was about time he found him again.
He even started gardening which amused Natasha to no end. Seeing big and burly Steve Rogers, bent over fussing over the smallest leaves and flowers brought her a joy like no other. If you asked her, she wouldn’t tell you that the reason she loved watching Steve garden so much was because she could finally watch the spark in Steve’s eyes after five years of staring into lifeless eyes, but Steve knew that was why.
Those were good days. He wished every day could be a good day. Where he could roll out of bed, the cloud beneath his feet and kiss Bucky good morning before his boyfriend went on his run with Sam. He enjoyed cooking and watching Bucky return from his run, skin glistening with sweat. He also enjoyed pretending he hated it when Bucky would whip off his sweaty shirt and start smushing kisses all over his face, but they way he’d laugh and giggle probably gave him away. These were the kind of days where he cherished every tick of the clock and was grateful he was alive, here with the love of his life and his family.
But retirement isn’t easy. Especially when you have decades of trauma strapped to your back. He had bad days. He didn’t like to think of them but he did. And today was a bad day.
He knew it the moment he’d woke up. Everything seemed off-kilter; like someone had shifted everything an inch without telling Steve. There was an itch underneath his skin and a thrum to his heartbeat that was only ever there when he would pick up the shield. But there was no threat. He knew there was no threat but that knowledge didn’t upend the sense of dread that festered in his stomach.
He ignored it - he probably shouldn’t have. His therapist, Dr Khan, would probably tell him that denial of his emotions are more detrimental to his health than acknowledging them. But he’d been doing so well. He’d gone weeks without nightmares and was nearing a month without a Bad Day so he wasn’t ready to accept that he could lose all that. Start at zero again.
So he pushed and fought against it. He kissed Bucky goodbye even if he couldn't find the words to say farewell to his boyfriend. He showered, had breakfast and even watered his plants. He pushed the lingering dark cloud of thoughts to the back of his mind and propelled himself forward despite everything.
He thought he was victorious too. It was late into the afternoon and nothing terrible had happened. This could just be another good day. Steve had made lunch whilst Bucky was in the shower. A simple pasta recipe he could probably replicate with his eyes closed; the repetitivity brought him a sense of ease.
He opened the kitchen cabinet looking for his mug when the shower turned off. He didn’t know where he’d left the damn thing and he had only used it this morning. It was his favourite mug. A gag gift from Sam at the beginning of their friendship that had ‘WORLD’S OLDEST MAN’ and a photo of grumpy Steve on it. He didn’t know what it was about it but it warmed his heart just looking at the ugly thing.
He was about to call out to Bucky when he walked into the living room and spotted the mug perched on the edge of the coffee table. He must have forgotten it after breakfast. That wasn’t so unusual. As he moved forward to grab the mug, a powerful gust of wind knocked it over and Steve was all but helpless to watch. He tried to move forward, to catch it and save it from its inevitable fate but it slipped through his fingers like water and crashed onto the floor with violent cry, splintering into a thousand pieces.
His vision became fuzzy and he could feel the cold of the floor seeping through his trousers onto his knees. He wanted to call for Bucky but the words were clogged in his throat. It seemed so silly but he couldn’t stop replaying the image of the shattered mug like a broken record. If he had been faster - better - maybe he wouldn’t be left with shattered pieces at his feet. He didn’t know what to do or where to start to fix this. There was a buzzing in his brain that ordered him to fix this now before it was too late. That since he failed saving it, it was his responsibility to fix it. He tried to brush the broken pieces together to fix it but he couldn’t. He’d failed.
He didn’t realise Bucky was in front of him until he felt warm hands on his face. Bucky was crouched low and looking at Steve with something - worry? - in his eyes. Bucky was speaking, his lips were moving and he could hear sound but nothing made sense over the buzzing in his ears. It felt like his head was dunked under sand and everything sounded muffled and slow. He focused on Bucky’s face, on his voice but it felt like watching a broken tape where the dialogue and the film were out of sync. He couldn’t piece together anything and it propagated the panic coursing through his veins.
Bucky’s arms came around him and pulled him off the floor. Everything felt so horrible. He looked at Bucky and opened his mouth to speak but the words died in his throat like a light snuffed out. His fingers dug into the meat of Bucky’s forearms as he struggled harder. He needed to tell Bucky. He needed Bucky to know. It was his fault.
He didn’t know what to say and the harder he tried, the more difficult it became. It was like there was a ball of glass shards stuck in his throat and every time he opened his mouth to speak, to say something, the shards cut deeper into his throat. He couldn’t feel anything but the overwhelming sense of panic racing through him.
He tried to breathe, tried to remember what his therapist had told him to do when he felt like this but he couldn’t. He was in a cage and the walls were closing in. He tried to focus again on Bucky, tried to make sense of the noise in his ears and anchor himself to Bucky’s voice. He didn’t know how long it took but slowly the garbled noise in his ears started to quiet down.
“-hold on to me, sweetheart, we’re going to lie down.” He felt the soft press of his mattress underneath his trembling hands and he didn’t know when Bucky had pulled him away into their bedroom. He wanted to ask him but it hurt. His throat stung like he’d thrown up bile. His head was pounding. His chest felt like someone had dropped a car on him. Bucky’s arm pulled him close till Steve was cocooned against a firm chest and a warm embrace.
I can’t, he wanted to say. Bucky, I can’t do this. He wanted to scream at him, to shake Bucky and make him remove the heavy weight on Steve’s chest. Everything was horrible and he didn’t know how to say it.
“You can let go now, I’m here.”
So he did. He stopped fighting the thunderous current and let himself be pulled against it. He crumbled against Bucky and trusted him to be there to help put back the pieces. Bucky was his anchor and he knew he’d bring him back.
The gentle brush of fingers against his scalp slowly drew Steve out of his slumber. When Steve opened his eyes the sun was an orange orb hanging low in the sky. He lost sight of where he was for a moment until he looked around and noted he was buried under blankets in his own bedroom. He looked up and found Bucky next to him, leaning against the headboard with a book in his hands.
The cool metal fingers of Bucky's left hand brushed his hair and occasionally scraped at his skull and he wanted to fade away.
He shuffled closer, buried his face in Bucky’s stomach and released a deep sigh. He felt exhausted. Like he’d come back from a month long mission and had finally stripped off the shield and suit. His bones felt heavy and he wanted to sink into Bucky.
Bucky’s hand stuttered in his hair before resuming his rhythmic brushing. “Steve?” he asked. Steve wanted to reply, wanted to say something to Bucky but it felt pointless.
He registered the dull thump of a book being placed on the dresser and felt Bucky slide down till he was lying parallel to Steve. Steve found he couldn’t bear to look at Bucky right now but he didn’t want to pull away from him either. So instead he shut his eyes as Bucky’s face came into view and focused on the heat of Bucky’s hands seeping into his skin. Bucky ran his hand up and down, from Steve’s shoulder to his hips, slowly easing the remaining tension in the blond’s coiled muscles.
He couldn’t have told you how long they lay like that but eventually Bucky’s finger tugged at his chin, bringing Steve’s face to meet his.
“Steve? Sweetheart, can you look at me?” he whispered into the small space between them. Steve felt the warm air of Bucky’s breathe graze his lips and he pried open his eyes.
He opened his eyes and looked onto a sea of tranquility. Deep ocean blue eyes that held a warmth in them that thawed the ice in Steve’s chest. His hand reached out, completely on its own volition and cupped Bucky’s cheeks. He wanted to dive deep in those waters and let everything weighing him down go.
“There you are,” Bucky said, a soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips and the world seemed slightly brighter. Steve shuffled closer involuntarily and let Bucky’s hands rub up and down his back. Bucky broke the silence after a few moments. “You wanna talk?” he asked hesitatingly.
The muscles beneath Bucky’s hands stiffened and it was enough for Bucky to know. “Or not. We can just lie down Stevie, that’s alright.” Steve shifted closer, burrowed his face into Bucky’s neck, a silent plea for Bucky to hold him. He sent out a small prayer of gratitude when Bucky pulled him tighter, engulfed Steve’s huge frame in his arms and pressed a kiss against his hairline.
He didn’t know why this would happen to him. His therapist told him it was a by-product of his unresolved trauma. At first he thought it was bullshit. What grown man - Captain America no less - could be so paralysed by his own fears and panic he couldn’t speak. But the longer he visited Dr Khan and the more he read he realised how ignorant he’d been to his own suffering. He realised he’d used the Captain America mantle as a mask for his own hurt. He had thrown himself at every opportunity to fight just to silence the war that waged inside him. But now that the mask was gone, he had nothing to hide behind. Now, he was left staring back at a man who’s pain was deeper than bruises and broken bones.
He knew it would take time to feel okay again and he wasn’t the only one who had bad days. Bucky, Sam, Natasha and even Thor, a God, had terrible days. But, logically knowing that something would pass didn’t make enduring it in that moment easier.
He pressed his cheek against Bucky’s chest and listened to the strong beat of his heart. He matched his breathing to the steady rise and fall of Bucky’s chest. There would be nights when he would wake up, completely disoriented, where he would reach out for Bucky and expect to find dust beneath his fingertips. He couldn’t talk about that though. Living those five years without Sam and Bucky had been the hardest thing he’d done since coming out of the ice. He’d survived losing his family once but he hadn’t survived losing them again.
He pulled at Bucky’s palm and began tracing letters on his skin. His index finger traced out an S-A-M on Bucky’s palm and he looked up at Bucky questioningly. Bucky understood what Steve was getting at without Steve having to speak and he answered him. “Sam’s okay,” he reassured Steve. Just as Steve was about to move his finger he continued, “So, is Nat and Tony and Bruce. Everyone’s fine, Steve. You don’t have to worry.” He brushed his lips against Steve’s forehead, “you can rest now.”
He wanted to argue and tell Bucky he couldn’t because people needed him to get up and fight. That there were people counting on him and putting their lives in his hand so he couldn’t just lie down and disappoint them. But then Bucky murmured something, lips pressed against his hairline, that drained the fight out of Steve. “I need you to be here. I need you to be with me, Stevie.”
And it was like the light the sun had broken through after a long strom and had dispersed the fog in Steve’s mind slowly. Bucky needed him here. He didn’t need Steve to get up and fight. He just needed Steve to be here.
Bucky’s voice drew him out of his thoughts when he spoke. “You want to hear about how Sam made a fool of himself in front of the blond barista at Starbucks?” he asked, quietly. Steve tilted his head up, a silent question written across his face.
“Oh, wow, Stevie you are not ready,” he started, his eyes sparkled with glee and Steve felt a knot in his chest loosen as he watched Bucky animatedly recount his morning run with Sam. He still felt fuzzy and his tongue felt like cotton in his mouth but he knew what Bucky was doing. And he didn’t know it was possible but he loved him more for it.
He listened to Bucky talk and talk and talk. Memorising the tone of his voice and the deep rumble of his chest when he would laugh. He wanted to burn everything into his memory. He never wanted to forget the smooth slope of his nose or the strong line of his jaw. Or how his eyelashes would graze his cheeks when he laughed. Or the small crinkle of his nose-
“-Steve?” Bucky whispered, breaking Steve out of his trance. “You hungry?” he asked softly.
The mention of food triggered the rumbling in his stomach and he noted the sun had nearly set outside. Amidst the panic of the day, Steve hadn’t noticed when the hours ran past him and the warm afternoon sun had turned into an evening sunset.
It seemed that Steve wasn’t the only one that had heard his stomach rumbling and Bucky chuckled lightly before pressing a kiss to Steve’s brow and the tip of his nose. “I’ll go get some food, stay here,” he ordered.
Steve listened to the sound of Bucky pottering about in the kitchen before he saw him walk in with a tray of food. The pasta Steve had left in the kitchen. His limbs felt heavy and slow when he moved to sit up against the headboard but he managed to do it. A small victory.
Bucky came and sat down next to him, tray in his lap. Steve was about to pull it onto his lap when Bucky tutted, “Nuh-uh, not today. Let me take care of my sweetheart.” He said firmly. Steve was confused until Bucky lifted the fork to feed him and he felt his heart melt in his chest.
“C’mon, you want me to do the airplane? Cause I will,” he ribbed gently. A smile tugged at Steve’s lips and his shoulder shook gently in a poor imitation of a laugh before he opened his mouth and let Bucky feed him. He let Bucky take care of him and a sense of peace washed through him.
When Steve had finished the whole plate of pasta, Bucky pushed the tray away and sat closer to Steve. Steve reached out and held Bucky’s hand against his cheek, he turned to press a kiss onto Bucky’s palm.
Over the course of waking up, he found it easier to breathe and when he opened his mouth he couldn’t feel glass cutting into his throat.
And when Steve finally spoke for the first time that day, his voice was hoarse and stained from disuse. “I love you,” he murmured, “I love you so much.”
The words seemed dull in comparison to how Steve felt but they were true and he could say them without feeling like everything would swallow him whole. And the smile that lit up Bucky’s face made it worth it.
Bucky’s hands cupped his cheeks and he drew Steve’s face toward his, catching his lips in a tender kiss. “I love you too, Steve. More than anything.”