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Sam hadn’t woken up. He’d taken a hit to the head, back, legs- basically everywhere, and his wings almost as bad as when... not relevant. The world had an entirely human Captain America these days, and Sam being unconscious was the only reason Bucky hadn’t run out of the building yet.
Bucky was fine. He wasn’t nearly as human. In many ways, really. In more ways than Steve hadn’t been. Wasn’t. Isn’t. It was strange thinking of Steve like that- however Bucky was supposed to think of him when literal time travel was involved.
He’d always liked science fiction. Paperbacks that cost a quarter. Wishing those cheap books had been around when he was a kid, because he liked owning them. But he’d gone to the library before then. It was something Steve could do without one his ailment acting up- usually- but Bucky liked it better. The twenty-first century was so different than they imagined.
At least none of the doctors had messed with Bucky after the brief scan he had submitted to grudgingly. After that, he just sat on a chair in Sam’s room. No one tended to mess with him in general. Sam called it his ‘resting murder face’.
Scott stuck his head in, nodded, and left. Not surprised to see Bucky there, but no one really would be.
Scott was an alright guy. Eager, happy, easy to be around. Strangely wise sometimes. Traits that were like Sam, and yet they were entirely different people.
Scott seemed uninjured, but he had an incredible suit. With a helmet. Sam needed a helmet. If he was going to fly, why not have a full suit… like Stark’s? Yeah, maybe not like Stark’s. Not that Sam had as much baggage with the dead hero as Bucky did.
“Hey,” Sam whispered.
Bucky jerked his head up.
Sam smiled with his split lip. “Hey, gorgeous,” Sam said.
Panic.
Don’t panic.
Sam was flirty. Just not with Bucky with more than a smile.
“You’re high as shit,” Bucky grunted.
“Mmmm not that much. And enjoy it now, because when I get home and off the good stuff, I’m going to be cranky.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“Yeah, and my superhuman husband is going to have to do everything I want.”
What?
What?
“You got some great guy living with us that I don’t know about?” he teased. He could tease. Sam wasn’t… thinking Steve was still around, was he? Steve had never lived in their current place. Not that Sam and Steve had been… like that. They hadn’t.
“Ha ha. You’re gonna have to cook all my favorites, and massage anything I want, and do all the work during sex,” Sam said, followed by a yawn.
“You hit your head,” Bucky said.
“You can try that as a reason to keep me in bed when I’m too tired for sex, but I’m gonna be mad at it.”
“I gotta find your doctor,” Bucky said, standing and fleeing the room.
What the hell?
What the fuck?
Scott was still there, talking to a doctor Bucky knew. Brain doctor. Friendly. Always wanted him to talk. Bucky didn’t talk much. Tried to not learn her name, but he was too good at remembering details. Dr. Farmer. She would make jokes about the name sounding like she had two jobs.
“Sam’s got some… delusions or something,” he told them. Which- not discrete.
“Probably from pain killers?” Scott suggested.
The doctor looked back in the direction of Sam’s room, looking concerned, “What do these delusions consist of?”
“He-” Bucky lowered his tone, “He thinks he’s married… to me,” he said.
Scott’s eyes widened appropriately, and they both stared at the doctor, who was staring at Bucky.
“Oh, man, what do we do?” Scott asked.
“We- I should talk to my patient, but I think- it is most likely safest to- not contradict his impression of reality at this time. Did he say anything else unusual, Mr. Barnes?” the doctor asked. Bucky dimly appreciated the ‘Mr.’ He wasn’t wild about hearing ‘Sergeant.’ And talking about titles always had a chance of getting Sam going about how Sam was a Staff Sergeant, still a proud enlisted man, and how he’s not really comfortable with walking into the title Captain, with or without the official rank- which multiple branches of the Armed Forces attempted to give him- the Air Force, Army, Coast Guard, the Reserves, and the Space Force had all tried to make official. Because Space Force was an actual thing now. Probably with some alien technology supplements.
Had Sam said anything else strange?
“I- didn’t stand around when it was clear he meant it. But- maybe it was just the drugs?”
“Possible, but he is usually clear headed on that level of medication. I’ll speak to him. Even with… confusion, with proper monitoring, he might still be able to go home with you today. Perhaps- Mr. Barnes and Mr. Lang- you can give us some privacy but not leave the building.,” she said.
He had to get far enough away for super hearing to not pick it up. The world was big on doctor patient confidentiality these days. HIPAA, therapy, secrets. Someone had probably already told Bucky too much when Sam had still been asleep, even though it was hardly anything. There were so many things everyone around him just knew. Airport security he’d never be able to get through flying on a regular plane. Eight planets in the solar system, but what did that matter when people had been far past it? Unimportant things he was trying to focus on because Sam thought they were married. Which was legal now- marrying a man. Kids would grow up never knowing a day when it wasn’t legal.
Scott led him to a break room with real food in it in the machine. Scanned a wristband and pressed buttons. Bucky just grunted when asked what he wanted, so Scott picked things.
“And you sure you didn’t get married at any point?”
“What? Of course not,” Bucky groused.
“Hey, no judgments, I almost did the cliche drunk marriage in Vegas thing once.”
“I can’t even get drunk,” he said. Not easily, at least. He probably could.
“Okay… well… without the alcohol- what do you think of the idea?”
“What? ”
“Look, I’m no doc. And- my divorce says I’m maybe not the best at relationships- but hey, we are on great terms, so that says something, and I’m doing well with Hope. But- ah… if Sam is under some… delusion that you’re married… and you live and work together all the time, and know each other really well… he’s probably in love with you, and being married is what made sense to him with what his brain has put together. Maybe… he’s even picked up that you... feel the same?”
“Haven’t lived togeth- in the same place- that long,” Bucky mumbled. “And we argue all the time about stupid shit. And I’m- not normal.” Which meant the other stuff wouldn't, couldn’t happen.
“Yeah, I know enough of the backstory info. That sucks. And- as for not being that long… I knew I was going to love Hope like- almost immediately, when she still hated me- it’s not a trait I’m bothered by. You’ve known Sam a while. And it looks to me like you guys go together pretty well. Bickering- is just how some people communicate, even in relationships.”
“Sam will find someone who he doesn’t need to be a therapist for.”
“Sam’s not a therapist- he’s been a counselor, but he’s not your counselor. You have Dr. Farmer when you want to talk. Did she check you out after the fight?”
“Another doctor said I was okay,” Bucky mumbled. He was always fine. With fragile humans around. Felt like looking after kid Steve again sometimes, except if he said that out loud, everyone would be insulted, including Steve somewhere.
Scott patted Bucky on the back.
Bucky didn’t flinch.
Food still tasted good when he didn’t want it.
“So- you do like him, right?” Scott asked. “Or love him?”
Bucky glared. It silenced most people. It worked on Scott’s talkative friend whom Bucky had had the misfortune of meeting. Or it had worked for a few moments, at least.
“Right,” Scott spoke into the silence. “Well, you might as well tell him you love him if it’s not a lie anyway. He will be expecting it. I mean, I don’t know how he imagines you working in private, but I’d expect it.”
“He can’t expect much from me.”
“No, man, you’ve got a lot to give. You’ll be all mothering over him. Lean into the way you want to act. Sam will appreciate you taking care of him. And, even if you won’t admit it, clearly you both love each other, and I knew that ages ago, so might as well… show it, you know? Assuming he doesn’t snap out of it in a few hours.”
No.
Wasn’t real.
Couldn’t do that to Sam.
Scott touched his arm. “Hey, not to put more pressure on you. I’m sure this is really rough. If you need a place to crash for a few days…”
“Can’t leave him alone,” Bucky murmured. “He has a brain injury.”
“Yeah. That’s- definitely right. But hey, that’s you being nurturing already.”
“Can’t believe they’d let him leave,” Bucky complained. Even with Avengers-level future tech. Or maybe the whole country had it now, Bucky hadn't kept up. Maybe supplemented by the Wakandans. Ignoring half of what Scott said was all he could do. Sometimes no one else had any damn common sense.
“Well, they wouldn’t let him leave alone, I’m sure, but he has you to look after him. And- I’m sure it… well… should probably do what the doctor says, but if it gets too bad… you guys could talk to the magical doctor. He creeps me out, so not my first choice, but still.”
“Not a fan of magic either,” Bucky agreed. He could try Wakanda directly too, even if it meant an embarrassing conversation with Shuri. But the doctor would know about those options available to Captain America too, and she knew a hell of a lot more than Bucky did about people.
“Yeah. I’m going to text the doctor, see if she says anything,” Scott said.
“I think the best chance of recall is for you to spend time with him. Tell him real memories of the two of you together,” Dr. Forest watched Bucky.
That was not too bad.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
“I’ve told him no sexual activity for at least a month, which should buy us some time for him to… come out of this on his own without the pressure of a sexual relationship on either of you,” the doctor informed him.
Thank God.
Because of course he’d been thinking about it since Sam said the word ‘sex’. But he could never do that.
That coming from a doctor sounded legitimate, didn’t it? He’d hurt his ribs. Deep bruising that could easily pass as a fracture, couldn’t it? And a shoulder sprain and badly twisted ankle. And the concussion and delusions that were the actual problem. Maybe Sam thought there was concern for his heart that didn’t really exist? Though doctors didn't lie to patients as much anymore. Still, the doctor must have told him something.
“It might be gone in a few hours. But, if he doesn’t come out of it in the next two hours, I’m going to send him home with you. You can call me any time, day or night. Do you think you can talk to him without directly challenging his thoughts?”
“Said I could,” he mumbled. Bucky was friendlier than this some days. He was. He could be charming. He tried a smile, which the doctor returned and nodded.
“Okay so-” Scott said, “I’ll get into your place and- make it more like he’s expecting- if he’s coming home tonight and might not be better. Otherwise, that’s going to really abruptly disrupt his reality,” Scott said, looking quickly between Bucky and the doctor.
“An excellent idea,” Dr. Farmer said.
Modern medicine.
Playing house.
A picture that he knew should be in his room in the main room instead. Of all the Howling Commandos. Another from Sam’s room. Of him and Riley.
“I hate hospitals,” Sam grumbled. He was gladly accepting his good shoulder thrown over Bucky’s to not put much weight on foot, even though it had a sturdy brace. His other arm was in a sling he could do without if needed.
“Want some real food?” Bucky asked.
“Yes please,” Sam answered. “But I wanna change first,” he said.
Which room did Sam think they slept in? What did Scott do to their place?
Bucky shuffled to Sam’s room, because it was the one with the larger bathroom that didn’t open into the main room for guests. Bucky hadn’t cared when they moved in.
It looked like home. Like a home. For playing house. He’d guessed right, anyway.
All of their junk shoved into one room, somewhat messy. Two clothes dressers against one wall. Queen sized bed. Which was what they both had before, of course. Scott wasn’t out buying mattresses and sheets. It had been weird to have a bed that large to himself.
“You okay to handle that?” he asked. He’d seen Sam naked before, but not like this.
“If I say no, can I get you on your knees?” Sam asked.
“You heard the doctor’s orders,” Bucky muttered.
“Fine, yeah, doubt I could get it up anyway. I feel like shit. But I think I can manage putting on fresh undies,” he said with more teasing. Hadn’t heard him say that word.
Food. Bucky could handle cooking.
“I hate being shelved. And you’re going to make me fat,” Sam complained, finally propped on the couch with a plate of food on a tray table. Chicken and rice casserole. Didn’t require two hands to eat, and Sam liked it with the cheese mixed in and buttered cracker crumbs on top. With it served up, Bucky wondered if he should have done plain chicken with rice as a side. “These abs you like so much will be gone tomorrow,” Sam complained. He took a large bite anyway and groaned obscenely.
“Muscle won’t disappear in a few weeks,” Bucky tried for reassurance. For not reacting to that noise more than someone used to it would.
“No, but plenty of time for a layer of fat on top,” Sam groused. “Only human over here, and you like cooking with butter.”
“A little more weight won’t stop the wings from working. You’ll be fine.”
“You wanna feed me up, old fashioned man? Tell me how some fat meant prosperity in your day?”
“Well, it did,” Bucky didn’t blush. Damn Sam.
“I know. Because as much as you like these abs, you noticed my ass first. Healthiest place to carry weight, ass and thighs. Of course, there’s plenty of muscle there too.”
Sam enjoyed being embarrassing.
“Yeah, you taught me the phrase ‘leg day.’”
“Mhm, damn right.”
“There’s some extra chicken and plain rice if this is too hard on your stomach,” Bucky offered. There wasn’t actually any extra rice from the rice cooker, but they had some of the packets that could be ready in a minute in the microwave that were surprisingly good in a hurry.
“Don’t you dare,” Sam said, pulling his plate closer and taking a large bite. “And don’t complain when I tell you it’s perfect, but hand me the Lawry's.”
“There’s plenty already in it, and you need to watch your blood pressure,” Bucky found himself saying. It wasn’t something he would normally say out loud, because Sam’s eating habits were none of his businees, but...
“My blood pressure’s fine when they aren’t measuring it in a hospital.”
“Because being in a hospital is anywhere close to the most stressful part of your life.”
“Fine. Love you,” Sam muttered.
It was the aggravated way people in long term relationships do. Bucky had hardly seen that exist. It felt different. Overwhelming. It felt too real when it wasn’t.
“Remote’s over there,” he said.
Television with dinner was common in this century, and they were already on the couch. It made sense. Dinner was never really the best time for conversation, with mouths being full. Made everything less awkward, even when Bucky didn’t care what was on and had a niggling in the back of his mind that his mother wouldn’t approve. Though he didn’t have any idea what she’d think of him pretending to be married to a man. He’d never even told any family but Steve that he even had interest in men.
“Have we watched this one?” Sam asked, picking a movie on Netflix.
“Don’t think so. Whatever you want is fine.”
It turned out to be a decent enough romantic comedy, even if it was far too predictable.
Bucky changed into something to sleep in while Sam spent too long in the bathroom that he insisted he could handle just fine on his own.
It was easy to tell whose side of the bed was whose. Scott Lang was an impressive burglar, or whatever this counted as.
It was surprisingly easy to go to sleep.
It was strange how normal it quickly felt.
Bucky cooked, and watched tv and movies, and referenced missions they’d been on together, and other stupid life things- the first time Sam had had Bucky’s cooking, shit like that. That was more awkward to work in naturally, but Sam always nodded and smiled.
And then Sam would reference shit that hadn’t happened… their first date, their first magazine cover as a couple when someone with a camera phone hadn’t minded their own damn business…
And Bucky knew it wasn’t true but… it sounded so damned good.
Sam would kiss him.
The first one was the first morning after, when they were still in bed.
It felt right.
“Neither of us have brushed our teeth,” he joked, pulling away.
“Don’t care. Love you,” Sam said, kissing him again, leaning on his good arm.
Bucky pulled back again, “That head injury must have knocked out your sense of smell. Might need to take you back to the hospital.”
“I love you even though you’re an asshole.”
When the kisses were more common, Bucky stopped pulling away. Most of them were too brief to have a chance anyway. Right. Because he was an inhumanly fast super soldier.
“What are you doing?” Bucky demanded. Sam was naked and sitting on their bed- his bed- Sam’s bed that Bucky was temporarily sleeping in. His sling was rejected with the clothes, and Sam was working with one hand on the tight brace on his foot.
“Bucky, I haven’t had more than a sink bath in days, and my perfect eleven year old niece- who I missed five important years of her life- made me bath bombs,” he said, pointing at the box from the mail Bucky had just brought him a few minutes ago, open handwritten letter on top. “And if any of them survived the delivery, I’m using them. Actually, even if they didn’t survive, I’m tossing in the dust and telling her they’re amazing. Now, open the box or bring me a knife, and am I limping over alone- to our wonderful tub big enough for two- or are you helping me?”
“Can’t have you cracking your head open again,” Bucky joked without it being the least bit funny to him. But Sam seemed happy enough.
Bucky had seen Sam naked before Bucky had become reacquainted with modesty.
Maybe it was even part of the reason. The man was beautiful.
The bath bombs were all cracked in two or more pieces, but a few of the chunks made the water opaque with the variety of colors spewing forth, and that made it bearable to be in the room. Because leaving the room would be weird, right?
“Getting in?” Sam asked. “I promise I’ll even keep my hands to myself- or not if you want. I have a perfectly good one, you know.”
Shit.
“No funny business on doctors orders. And I’m- gonna get a cup and wash your hair from the faucet. You know you don’t want whatever is in there in your hair you’re oh so particular about.”
“My hair is a quarter of an inch long, and if it gets wrecked, I look great with a shaved head.”
“You think I could too?”
“No. I think you’d look like a different sort of scary I don’t want to see. You can pull off long and short, which is rare enough, so don’t push it, honey.”
Bucky washed Sam’s hair anyway, with a large plastic cup and water right from the faucet instead of the swirling colorful mess. He kept massaging Sam’s hair for longer than needed at each stage, and put those oils in afterwards, and kept at that for a while too, so that Sam wouldn’t invite him in the bath again, and by the time he was done, he could say, “You’re going to be a shriveled mess if you don’t get out.”
And after drying off came Sam’s lotion, which Bucky had never paid much attention to, very intentionally, and Bucky had to get Sam’s back, because he really couldn’t reach it, and also his good arm, for the same reason.
Sam stole a thank-you kiss that took his breath with it.
Sam was in for a check-up when Bucky found himself talking to Bruce.
“Okay… so… he believes you’re married to each other. So… I think it’s highly likely that… he has romantic feelings for you. How do you feel about that?” Bruce asked.
Being easy to be around was a superhero thing, Bucky thought. One that he didn’t have.
He’d already been over it with Scott a week ago. Except Scott had been brash enough to say ‘love’.
Bucky and Bruce had a weird bond. Maybe the arm thing. Though Bruce had kept his, even though he couldn’t move it from its permanent sling. Bucky never suggested he do anything else with it, but his own arm was a blatant example of what Bruce could have if he wanted. Might be hard to make it human and Hulk sized. He was Hulk sized most of the time. Maybe Bruce could do some science and fix it.
Right. Sam. Shit.
Bucky shook his head, “He likes the idea of it, maybe,” Bucky allowed. “He’s- sexually attracted to me,” he said. There’s been heat from almost the beginning. When Bucky- when the Soldier- wasn’t trying to kill Sam anymore. Hell, probably even before then. “Maybe likes the idea of saving me,” he shrugged.
“You’ve been friends for quite a while,” Bruce suggested. “I’m sure he knows you well. I’m- not trying to be your therapist- I am not that kind of doctor- but you know Dr. Forest would always listen, when you need something different than a friend or… partner.”
Partner. Something weird to call Sam. People used it romantically, and that was good for them. Great. Just, to him, it sounded too much like business partners, mission partners. Which… was what he and Sam actually were. He pushed far away the thought that he liked the sound of ‘husband’ much better.
“They should have made the bullied smart kid with the parental pressure black. Would have been a better role,” Sam murmured.
“Yeah,” Bucky said. Because it was probably right. “Or the popular girl,” he said. They were watching an apparently iconic movie about five high school kids in detention. It was alright.
“Yeah. Or both. Who do you think is hottest?”
“Is that not weird?”
“It’s a movie from the ‘80s, and I’m pretty sure they were all in their twenties.”
“The popular girl,” Bucky picked.
“Both women are pretty gorgeous,” Sam agreed. “What about of the guys?”
“Not my type.” Not that the girls were really his type either.
“Yeah. I used to think the bad boy was hot, but I think I was just a bit off,” he said, squinting at Bucky.
“Shut up.”
He didn’t look anything like that guy.
Didn’t even have that length hair anymore.
And certainly didn’t act like him.
“Bucky, I love you,” Sam panted against his lips. From where he was lying practically on top of Bucky.
And Bucky could feel...
Bucky was breaking.
It had been two weeks.
“Bucky- I think we should go to Wakanda. Have Shuri take a look.”
“Are you in pain?” Bucky jolted to attention. He could have his crisis later. It wasn’t even about Sam’s erection he’d felt. Sexual attraction was easy to write off. It was everything else.
“I’m fine, Bucky. Physically and mentally fine. Emotionally- it’s been a lot of ups and downs. I love you so much, Bucky. And I know you love me. I can see it, and it’s just- the greatest gift. But… I’m done with the play along. It’s okay if you never remember- I mean, not okay, but we will be. I want to rebuild. You- Bucky, you think I had a traumatic brain injury. And, yeah, I did have a concussion, but… Bucky, we were married last year, and you don’t remember. We all thought that it would come back to you, like your memories did before… We thought being here with me and some time. Me telling you stories, even if you thought they were my delusions. But I think it’s time to go to Wakanda. But if you just need proof- God, the internet is overflowing with it. We kept the ceremony small, but with lots of pictures that got everywhere. I mean… I thought you would be bothered by the year, or by a thousand little things, but Dr. Farmer said your brain is very practiced at- filling or accepting gaps- which sucks that it’s used to that. And I swear we didn’t violate doctor patient confidentiality any more than that. Even though we’ve both signed off for doctors to tell the other anything, I wouldn’t do that with a therapist.”
“A nurse told me all your injuries before you woke up,” Bucky mumbled, grabbing onto that last detail. The smallest thing. “They… aren’t supposed to do that now, with HIPAA.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s right. But everyone knows we’re married, and everyone on staff knows they can talk to either of us.”
Bucky tried to piece together the rest of that day, assuming...
They… people were shocked… because Bucky was telling them Sam thought they were married.
That...
“Scott said he was coming here to… get our place ready,” was what Bucky said.
“All he did was take down wedding pictures. But I’ve got more in my phone,” he said, handing Bucky the device.
Bucky stared at the thing.
He… felt like he should know the password.
He touched his flesh index finger to the home button instead.
It unlocked, like he knew it would.
Photos.
There were a lot of pictures. Recent ones first.
Sam liked taking pictures.
He didn’t like anyone calling them selfies- though half of them were- or calling him a Millennial- because he thought generational labels were dumb, and he’d been born around a generational line to begin with, and then there was the snap.
Bucky flipped backwards far enough to see… They were in Italy. He knew they were in Rome.
On their honeymoon.
Kissing in front of the Trevi Fountain.
Because they were going to do all the tourist things. They’d thrown in coins as well. One coin for returning to the city. Two for returning in love. Three for returning married. Sam said they might as well throw three, because it went to a charity, but he didn’t need to throw any. That any place together was good. That the next trip that wasn’t for work, they should pick another continent. That he already had love and marriage.
Bucky started swiping again.
Cathedrals, several of them.
Gelato. It had been cold outside, but they got it often anyway.
That outdoor skating rink. That was in Siena.
Caricatures from that woman in front of the Duomo. In Florence. Inside the cathedral. Museums.
The silly tourist picture holding up the Leaning Tower of Pisa. No one talked about the beautiful cathedral that it was part of.
Planes.
Smiles.
Wrapped up with scarves and coats.
When he went further still… those were from their wedding.
Both of them in suits. They had pictures in dress military uniforms too. Most of them while kissing. The pinks and greens for Bucky… the Army had gone back to them. Just called them greens, but they looked the same. And the pants were never really pink. Bucky wondered if the return was because of Steve. Sam in his blue. They’d worn the black suits for the actual ceremony. Bucky’s a three piece suit, Sam’s two. Sam had asked if Bucky would wear just the vest, not even a shirt. Bucky had declined for the ceremony, but there were pictures of that too.
Bucky looked up. His eyes were wet.
“I- remember, but I haven’t gotten all of it back yet,” he admitted.
“Oh, thank God,” Sam said and kissed him.
They’d kissed a lot during… the last weeks. But this one felt like home.
“Even if you didn’t remember, I was ready to win you back,” Sam kissed him again. “Just had to get you to believe I wasn’t delusional,” kissing again. “Though being married to you would be a great delusion to have. It sucked you thinking the opposite.” Kissing again. “Love you so much.” They fought more often than they talked about feelings, but they loved each other.
“Love you too.”
He did. Not more, exactly, than a few minutes before, when he didn’t remember, but deeper. And there was no guilt with it. Because this was his life. A life that Sam wanted as badly as he did. And it was literally too good to believe, but he did.