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When Bucky got home, it was past 2 in the goddamn morning and she felt like a pear someone had thrown off a truck onto hot asphalt. The city was as dark as New York got at any point in time, which meant that not only was every light in the goddamn country lit up and shining directly into their shitty apartment, but every rave also had its multicolor, seizure-inducing beams painting their walls all sorts of bright shades.
(Bucky didn’t mind the light or the noise. She was tired of the dark. And she could never blame the party-goers anyway, since she would like to join them most often than not. She, unlike some people whose name might rhyme with sheve shogers, didn’t mind the way people danced nowadays.)
Steve was in the living room even though Buck had told her not to wait up for her, kneeling with her back straight as a ruler between the couch and the coffee table, huge canvas propped up through thorough abuse of the laws of physics, trying to paint the blurs of red-pink-yellow-purple-green flashing onto the living room.
“Told you not to wait up for me,” Bucky grunted. She walked in and started shedding her armor and weapons onto the couch.
Steve snorted, not looking away from her canvas. From here Bucky could see what she was trying to capture: the way the light was coloring a particular corner of their wall-TV-stand-framed picture; green on the TV, purple on the wall, pink on their faces from where they were beaming in the photo, both of them crouching and petting a goat from Clint’s farm from about a year ago.
“I’m painting,” Steve said. “Who said I was waiting up for your ugly mug? I’m trying to finish my masterpiece here. I can’t go to bed until it’s done.”
“The colors change every second, how on Earth are you managing to paint this particular, like,” Bucky started, then paused, trying to formulate her thoughts. “Uh, conformation? Of colors?”
“Wow, Buck, a four-syllable word,” Steve said, turning wide and innocent eyes at Bucky. “I’m so proud of you.”
Bucky slapped her over the head, making her blond hair fly up and then settle into a mess. Bucky sighed and knelt by her, wrapping her arms around her shoulders.
“Yeah, I’m a real genius,” Bucky said, shoving her cold nose against Steve’s neck. Steven didn’t even flinch, which Bucky thought was rather rude of her. “I’m alright, by the way. A bit banged up, but Bruce patched me up. Glad you asked, sorry for having obviously worried you so badly.”
Steve added another touch of pink to Bucky’s cheek in the picture, soft like a blush.
“Natasha kept me updated,” she admitted, then protested before Bucky could straighten up and slap her over the head again. “Not all the time! Not during the fight or any of that! But I had to know you were okay once you guys were done. I just sent her a text.”
Bucky groaned and rolled away, crumbling to the small space between Steve and the couch in a heap of exhausted super-soldier. “Stevie, you have to stop hovering. You’re supposed to be retired, and how are you gonna make us millionaires selling your paintings if you’re bringing yourself to an early death by worrying about radioactive giant lizards and, I don’t know, whatever other bull I deal with on a daily basis?”
Steve paused. “Was that what those were?”
“I don’t know,” Bucky admitted. “But they kinda looked like lizards, didn’t they?”
“I didn’t see them, I didn’t turn on the news.” Bucky watched from a weird angle, since she was on the floor, as Steve mixed the pink with some red and applied it lovingly to Bucky’s hair. Even though the picture of them occupied only a quarter of the canvas and Bucky-in-it was even smaller, she was the most detailed, worked on part of the whole thing. “Natasha described them as, uh, green goop.”
“Lizard-shaped green goop,” Bucky argued.
She wanted to get off the floor and go take a goddamn shower, but she was exhausted and hungry and standing up felt so hard. From here she could feel the warmth leeching off from Steve’s body, could watch, dozing, as she painted. The whole room smelled like it, like the paint thinner Steve used with that weird name Bucky could never remember, and while a part of Bucky thought that they’d eventually die if they didn’t get some air circulation into this apartment, a part of her felt content as a cat in a sunny spot. It was the smell of Steve at home, doing what she loved.
“Don’t fall asleep,” Steve said softly.
Bucky opened her eyes without having noticed she had closed them.
“I’m getting old,” Bucky complained as Steve helped her sit up and her joints complained loudly and with prejudice. Her metal arm whirred in Steve’s hands as if purring, which Bucky would think was embarrassing if she were a lesser woman. The arm was hidden, covered by Stark’s latest glove. It looked like a normal arm. Bucky wasn’t sure she wanted to keep it, yet.
“I’ll help this old woman into the shower, then make her some food,” Steve said, supporting Bucky as she stood up. Bucky sighed and fit Steve under her arm, by her side, and shoved her nose into Steve’s hair. Steve was just shorter enough that she fit beside Bucky like a puzzle piece.
“I can’t believe Natalia actually answered your text,” Bucky grumbled as Steve led her to the bathroom, leaning her weight obnoxiously against her. “She’s even worse than me about keeping you from stressing about this shit.”
“I convinced her. I can be very persuasive.”
“You mean you threatened to show up and see for yourself,” Bucky translated with a sigh. They entered the bathroom and Bucky sat down heavily on top of the toilet. She let Steve shove the rest of the Kevlar and body-armor out of her. “Steve…”
“I worry,” Steve muttered, not looking at her as she reached into the shower stall and turned on the water.
Bucky caught her elbow and drew her in. She pulled her between her legs and wrapped her arms around Steve’s waist, hiding her face in her chest, reveling in the fact that she could. Steve smelt—like that goddamn paint-thinner, actually. It burned Bucky’s nose, sharp and chemical.
Once it would have raised hell inside Steve’s lungs, but the woman in front of her was lean with muscle and healthy as an ox, even now the serum’s effect had diminished and made her small again.
Bucky wanted to tell her not to worry, but that’d be as useless as trying to shoot the sun. She just squeezed Steve against her until Steve gave up and relaxed in her arms, sighing deeply. Steve’s arms around Bucky’s neck and shoulders were strong. Bucky would have been able to lean away, but someone not a super-soldier would probably struggle.
“I can’t not worry,” Steve murmured even though Bucky hadn’t said anything.
“Come on, get in with me,” Bucky said, leaning away and standing up. Steve barely took a step back, keeping herself glued to her, but detached with a snort at Bucky’s words.
“No, I need to make you something to eat,” she said. “Else you’ll wake up at three in the morning and decide you want pizza or Indian or something stupid like that.”
“I’m just enjoying the wonders of the 21st century,” Buck said haughtily, chucking the rest of her clothes off and stepping into the warm shower. “It’s not my fault you don’t want to bother people who are being paid to work—”
Steve threw a new bar of soap at the back of her head and walked out without another word. Bucky closed her eyes under the stream of water and felt the day sloughing off of her in layers, as she slowly, but surely, warmed up.
***
Bucky finished her shower and went to their room to actually get clothes to wear, because she had taken nothing to the bathroom. If she put on a comfortable but very nice pair of black underwear, then that was nobody’s business but her own. And Steve’s. It was very much Steve’s business as well.
Bucky went to the kitchen. Steve was perched on top of their table typing on her phone, fingers slow over the big screen. There were two plates beside her: both had white rice (one of the only things Steve managed not to burn) and chicken nuggets (another thing Steve managed not to burn, though it was a lesser accomplishment, since she just had to throw them inside the oven).
Bucky walked forward and snatched Steve off the table like she was a sack of potatoes. Steve startled, then laughed, then covered her mouth with a hand because she didn’t want to be loud and bother the neighbors. Bucky set her down on top of the counter and pressed herself all against her front, arms tight around her waist.
“Hey, soldier,” Steve murmured, winding her arms around Bucky’s neck.
“Hey, shorty,” Bucky crooned.
Steve grabbed at her short hair and yanked in retaliation. Bucky just laughed.
“Rice and chicken nuggets, huh,” she said, nosing at Steve’s cheek. “We’re living like kings in this house.”
“Hey, I made that for you,” Steve said. “I could very well have just popped some frozen shit into the microwave.”
“Oh yeah? You handmade those chicken nuggets in the fifteen minutes I was in the shower?”
“I’m never making dinner with my bare hands for you again,” Steve said instead of answering her, tugging at her hair again. “It’s McDonald’s and frozen TV dinners forever from now on. We’re both going to die at forty of heart problems.”
“But Steve, I will die if I go a day without your wonderful handmade chicken nuggets,” Bucky whined.
Steven finally cracked and laughed. Bucky smiled and kissed her.
They made out against the counter for five minutes like they were teenagers, like they couldn’t when they’d been teenagers, free and giddy and sloppy, before Bucky’s exhaustion remembered it existed and decided to crash upon her shoulders with the weight of fifty elephants. She was a supersoldier, but not even she could withstand fifty elephants.
She drew away from Steve with a sigh, only so she could drop her forehead to Steve’s shoulder.
“Alright, go eat your lovingly hand-crafted chicken nuggets,” Steve said softly. “Then we can finally go to sleep.”
“So you were waiting for me after all,” Bucky mumbled.
“Of course I was,” Steve whispered, carding her fingers through Bucky’s wet hair. “Eat, and I’ll dry this for you.”
“You’ll turn on the blow dryer at this hour?” Bucky asked, grinning. She loved it when Steve was all impolite because of her.
“Ah, once won’t kill the neighbors,” Steve said with an answering smile, as if she didn’t do this at least once a week.
Bucky sat down to eat her dinner. Steve went to the bathroom and returned with the blow dryer. Steve’s fingers carded through her thick hair, massaging her scalp, and Bucky felt her entire body sigh. With relief. With warmth. When Steve was done, she kept playing with Bucky’s hair, braiding it and unbraiding it until Bucky was done with this 2 AM dinner.
Bucky put the dishes in the sink, already half-planning how she’d convince Steve to wash them the next morning, already half-aware of the fact that Steve would definitely make her do it no matter what, and they walked to the bedroom with their hands linked.
Bucky sat down heavily on the bed, sighing. Steve blinked at her.
“Wait,” she said. “Are you going to sleep in that? Bucky, you’re only wearing underwear.”
Bucky looked at her from under her eyelashes. “Are you complaining?”
“It’s autumn, Bucky.”
“You’re in a tank-top and shorts, pal, I think you should get down from that high horse.”
Steve gave her an exasperated look. She went to their wardrobe, plucked a thin blanket from a high shelf—Bucky snorted, watching Steve have to go on her tip-toes to do it—and came back. She wrapped it around Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky looked down and felt the fabric between her fingers. It was soft. It was warmer than it looked. It was patterned with stars and moons.
“You could have brought me a shirt or something,” she said.
“But then I’d miss the view,” Steve said with an innocent smile.
Bucky kicked her swiftly in the shin. Steve laughed and climbed onto the bed. She was so much shorter than Bucky like this.
Bucky straightened up and leaned forward, making herself as tall as she could, and smiled.
“Hey, soldier,” she purred.
Steve put a hand on her thigh, resting there like it had no second-intentions whatsoever.
“I’m retired,” Steve said sweetly.
Bucky swatted the back of her head and Steve laughed again. Christ, Bucky loved that laugh. She would do anything for that laugh. She felt sappy. It really was too late. Just when Bucky was drooping down and considering going to sleep, Steve went on her knees, wound her arms around Bucky’s neck, and kissed her.
Bucky sighed into the kiss, holding her waist.
She had missed Steve like this, for all that she’d never touched Steve like this before she got big. But now she could put her hands on tiny Steve, after the serum started—well, nobody was sure. Started getting tired, maybe. Maybe it just realized that now Steve had retired, there was no need for all of its everything. Steve was still healthy, still filled with lean muscles and strength and stamina, but not as much as before. Steve could just be, now.
Steve tugged at her hair.
“What are you thinking of?” she asked quietly.
Bucky leaned back until both of them toppled down onto the bed. She held Steve close and stared at the ceiling.
“I’m thinking about how lucky I am,” she answered just as quietly.
“I’m lucky too,” Steve said, never one not to argue about anything and everything. She lifted herself onto her elbows and looked down at Bucky. “I’m lucky to have you,” she murmured. “We’re both lucky.”
“Yes, yes,” Bucky agreed with a laugh, “we’re all lucky as shit, are you happy now?”
Steve smiled, but not as wildly as she could have. Their words were too true for it. Everything they had now—each other, this apartment, painting and friends, Tony healthy and working on green energy, Bruce unafraid, Thor with Jane, Natasha with her stupid cat and yoga three times a week and an apartment close to Clint’s that was too bare but entirely hers, Clint with Lucky and Kate and all of them meeting at the Tower for movies and popcorn and something that felt like family every goddamn Thursday—
Bucky didn’t like thinking about it, because thinking it made it feel too real.
How small were the chances that they would have this? All of this, all of them? How narrowly had they avoided death and heartache and war? Very narrowly, Bucky thought, and was more right than she would ever know.
“Let’s go out tomorrow,” Bucky said suddenly, tracing the tattoo on Steve’s arm with a fingertip, still staring at the ceiling. “Let’s have brunch in some fancy place—I know Tony would send us about a Bible of recommendations if we asked. Or—we could go have lunch at the Tower. How’s that?”
“Aren’t you tired?” Steve asked, burying her face between Bucky’s neck and the bed. “Let’s just stay in tomorrow.”
“It’s nice to leave the house sometimes, Ms. Hermit,” Bucky argued. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t go to any restaurant or club or to anybody’s place—”
“I would,” Steve argued, but Bucky had her number: she knew from the others that before Bucky had—well, come back—Steve had been a miserable, isolated, empty-lifed motherfucker.
Not that Bucky was going to bring that up. That hadn’t just been Steve’s naturally homebody personality at play.
“Let’s visit Tony for lunch and then ask for his recommendation for dinner,” Bucky declared. “Which means we’ll get to stay in for the whole morning. Is that enough for you, Your Highness?”
“Hey, why Highness instead of Majesty?” Steve asked, poking Bucky’s ribs with a very pointy finger. “Fine, we’ll go out tomorrow. But the next day we’re staying in. I really do want to finish that painting soon.”
“Fine, but the next day we’re visiting Natalia,” Bucky countered. “I want to talk to her about her illicit texting.”
“Hey, you’re the one who said she’s worse than you about keeping you me out of Avengers business.”
“She is. I don’t blame her for having given in, you can be a little shit when you want to. But I have some tips for her,” Bucky said magnanimously. “She’ll learn how to resist your every effort soon.”
Steve sighed, snaking an arm around Bucky’s waist.
“I worry,” she said. “I have to know. I know I’m retired, but that doesn’t have to mean I won’t get involved at all.”
“You’ll just worry yourself into an aneurism,” Bucky said softly.
“And that’s kind of the opposite effect we intended with your retirement. Come on, Steve. Don’t you trust me to take care of lizard goop threats without you?”
“You know the problem isn’t trust,” Steve said. Bucky heard what she didn’t say: I’ve lost you once already. Twice. Three times. Too many. I can’t not worry when you’re such a goddamn idiot.
Bucky sighed, then turned so she could press Steve against the bed with her entire body. Steve let out an oof, but didn’t complain, just stayed tucked in there, between Bucky and the world.
Bucky had lost her too, too many times to count. She couldn’t complain too much; when she had just escaped Hydra and was on the loose, she’d started to follow Steve around like a murderous, insane bodyguard. She had been very protective. It had been very annoying for all parties involved. What Steve was doing was much less annoying. Maybe Bucky should just let her.
But Bucky didn’t want to just let her. Bucky wanted her to be okay.
“You know I’ll call you if we need you,” Bucky said softly, pressing a kiss to Steve’s hair.
“The serum…”
“Right, you’re tiny again. But you’re still strong and smart as all shit, Steve. You know I’ll call you.”
“You’ll try to keep me out of it to the last possible second,” Steve grumbled.
“Ah, Steve,” Bucky sighed, hugging her as tightly as she could, “I spent seventy years running missions without you. I didn’t grow fond of it, you know. And I am aware you’re not made of glass. I’ll call if I need you. Alright?”
Steve hesitated… then finally relaxed.
“Alright,” she said softly.
It wouldn’t take for long, Bucky knew. Steve would grow anxious and restless soon. But at least this was enough that she could relax for today, for this week, maybe even the month. That was how they were doing things: one day at a time. One week at a time. One whatever they could take at a time.
Tomorrow they’d stay in, then see Tony, who would ply them with their favorite foods as some kind of dig at the fact that they didn’t visit enough, and then go out for dinner. Bucky would drag Steve to the closest swing house, and they would try to dance, Bucky better than Steve. Then they would go home—home, this place that belonged to them—and they would sleep like this again: glued to each other, even when it was uncomfortable; braced together against the dark of the night, reassured that the other was there. And the other would stay there.
And that everything was finally fine.