Work Text:
2015
It is exactly two months and three days until my birthday. Not that I'm counting, or anything. In the process of getting my memory back, though, I've recalled loving birthdays. Whether it be celebrating the birthdays of others or myself, I always threw myself into the atmosphere and embraced every second.
I know that Steve would remember my birthday. Steve remembers everything, even when I can't remember anything at all. It is logical, therefore, for me to ask Steve for a birthday present.
(The Asset does not have wants the Asset does not have feelings the Asset is a vessel of it's superiors and must understand it's insignificance to all others but those who will use it)
Ah, shut up.
Birthday. Anyways. Two months, three days. I have registered that this will be a day of significance, due to the Cap-Steve's complex emotions towards the As-me. Planning is necessary to successfully accomplish the mission of-
(There aren't gonna be any more missions, Buck, you don't have to do anything other than what you want to)
Right. Planning is necessary to...have a good birthday. Or at least one with minimal catastrophe.
I don't understand why Barnes had such a fondness for birthdays. They aren't anything special, not really. Just an excuse for people to (loosen up a little, Stevie, c'mon! I know you aren't about to waste such a big day sittin' around inside when there's fun to be had)...to...
People have presents on their birthdays. I know this. Which is why I am going to ask Steve for a present, for my birthday. Although my birthday is not for two months and three days (but who's counting, anyways), it is important to plan. And to prepare. Birthdays are something to celebrate, after all.
"Hey, Steve?" I have worn the color blue for this encounter. Steve likes the color blue, it will make him less likely to punish the Asset for asking-no, no, there is no need for fearing punishment because punishment will not come in this house (no one will ever hurt you so long as I'm here)-
Steve turns around, startled, and smiles. Largely. (Affection is a weakness, one you should never have but can use against others if they are foolish enough to let you) "Hi! What's up, Buck? Everything okay?"
"It is my birthday in two months and three days." Small smile, this mission requires diplomacy and (promise you, Buck, you will never go on another fucking mission unless you want to) poise if it is to be successful.
I have been standing too still for too long. Roge-Steve was waiting for me to continue, which I did not do. (Hesitation is the death of any man, shoot to kill and don't waste a single second that could be spent bettering the world) "Yep, March 10. You used to love your birthday, remember that?"
"Yes. I..." (Ma never was one to let her kids go unfed, sir, guess I'm just used to celebratin' with a bit more than D-rations) "My mother...did she make me cake?" Shot in the dark, but maybe-?
Steve grins. "Yes! Oh, yeah, she made the best damn cake I've ever had in my life. Of course, it was absolute garbage by today's standards, but there is something to say for sentimentality. God, I haven't thought about Winnie's chocolate cake in ages. You remember anything else?"
I concentrate for a moment, but no words come to mind. The flashes really do come at the most inopportune moments, and never when I need to know things so that Steve will not punish me for my failure to remember. "No. I'm sorry."
"No, no, don't be sorry," he says quickly, "It's great that you remembered what you did. Long road to recovery, right?"
"Right."
He smiles again. He really does smile a lot, for a man so burdened by pain and expectation. "Anyways, sorry I got you sidetracked, what were you going to ask?"
I frown. "I...it's two months and three days until my birthday."
"Uh huh..."
"And birthdays-well, you celebrate them? Barn-I celebrated them a LOT. More than other people." Steve simply nods as a response, listening, and I (preference means punishment, opinion means pain) try to stay true to the mission. "Including with presents?"
His smile is a little incredulous, but it emerges nonetheless. "Y-yes, yeah. Are you asking for a birthday present, Bucky?"
"Yes."
"Great! That's amazing, um...what were you thinking you wanted?" (compliance is the key to(pick out which room you want, Nat usually bunks in the guest room here but I'm sure she wouldn't mind(sharing all relevant information to the mission previous to embarking is key to the success of our(life, you don't have to do anything you don't want to, you can call the shots now) "Uh, shit, um, I can pick? Sorry, fuck, are you-"
(Weakness is pain and preference is pain and) "Fine. I'm fine. Thank you, Steve."
"Yeah..."
2016
It is exactly two months and three days until my birthday.
I'm excited. This past year has been one of healing, of remembering. And while I know so much of Steve's time has been spent focusing on me, it's still nice to have the attention. You know, for something other than HYDRA.
Last year was...interesting, to say the least. Steve bought me a sweater-practical, but soft. I wear it at least once a week. I had a few flashbacks leading up to my birthday, but I only forgot my name twice on the day itself. Progress.
It is exactly two months and three days until my birthday, and I am hopeful it will be better. Although a lot of my past has been lost to the Chair and seventy years of pain, I have been collecting as much of it as I can. And I've remembered birthdays in the past year, mine and others. I want to have birthdays like those again.
I liked to wake with the sun, take a moment to bask in the brisk winter air before rousing the rest of the house. I would usually only do this on the days when I was too excited to sleep, but I do it more often now. It's nice, the quiet of dawn. Sometimes Steve joins me. I'm not sure he understands why I spend so much time outside in the early hours of morning, but he doesn't pry. Just sits with me in silence. It's nice.
Although there are two months and three days that must come and go before my birthday, I am filled with anticipation. Last year, I forgot what we were celebrating at several points in the day. "Why is there cake?" I asked Steve.
The first time, he just smiled. "It's your birthday, Buck! I'm using your Ma's recipe."
"Why is there cake?" I asked again, a few hours later when he brought the cooled delicacy to the table for us to enjoy.
Steve stayed patient, but his smile was strained. "It's your birthday. This is your Ma's recipe. Want a slice?"
I think I asked him why there was cake many more times than I remember.
But this year, I'll be better. My short term memory has become much better, details that HYDRA would have me disregard in my time as their slave can stick in my memory now. It makes me happy. I think it makes Steve happy, too.
Sometimes I'll blurt out what I've remembered-a song we used to play while we made dinner, a place we used to go when Benny's was too busy...Steve always looks at me with this intensely positive expression, one that makes my heart feel like it's stretching in my chest. I think we were something, back then. Steve hasn't said anything to me about it, but I think we were.
I've made a lot of progress, but...well. There are still the days when I can't remember my own name, much less a quick kiss shared in a steaming apartment without any air conditioning. I can't ask Steve to tell me what that kiss was about, what it led to, I just can't.
It's like I'm living in the epilogue of a book. And I started out with nothing else, but I've been picking up pages here and there. A lot of them don't make sense (why did Steve call me a knight all the time?), because I don't have any context for the random snippets of a story that was probably beautiful before it was torn apart and scattered to the winds.
I could ask Steve what the kiss was about. All I know is that it was hot, we were so damn hot without any air conditioning and Steve just kept on bitching about the heat until I leaned in and kissed him. That's all I know. Did I leave after that, did we pretend it didn't happen? How did Steve react? Were we in love? I could ask Steve, I could, but I can't I can't I can't.
Because what if we were? In love, that is. I've heard it's wonderful, from movies and songs and books that just endlessly rhapsodize about the beauty of having a person of your own. And part of me wants to be near Steve all the time, wants to brush his hair away from his face with a gentle touch and see that pretty smile directed right at me.
But I can't do that to him. Steve Rogers is a work of art, a beacon of light in an otherwise dark world. If we loved each other (we loved each other)-which, to be fair, I have no proof of!-then I can't subject him to a bond with someone as fucked up as me.
I can still see it in his eyes. The want. But it's better for all involved if I just let that want fizzle into nothingness.
"Hey, Steve?" I ask casually, knocking on the open door of his office.
Steve looks up from the mission report he was analyzing and smiles. "Hi! What's up?"
"Well, it's gonna be my birthday in two months and three days." I try to make myself continue, but the words won't come out. Steve notices, and is quick to speak so I don't have to.
"Sure is. Do you have anything in mind for what you want as a gift?"
"I-" I clear my throat, trying to work my way around that blockage keeping me from asking for things. "Yes. Could-could we maybe, um...well. It's. My birthday, two months and three days, like I said, and maybecouldyougetmethatmovieSamtalkedabout?" I let out a large exhale, exhausted by the effort it took to make my request.
"Yeah, the book one? The-fuck the one with the kid and-?"
"Paper Towns. Yes."
Steve makes a face. "Gah, thank you! Couldn't think of the name. Thanks for letting me know, I'll add that to the list of stuff to get you-and don't argue with me about the fact that there's a list!"
"Understood, sir."
"That-Buck, that wasn't an order."
"Understood, sir."
I let out a snarky smile and Steve rolls his eyes, letting his drawl come back in full swing. "Gedoutta here, Barnes. I'm workin'."
2017
It is exactly two months and three days until my birthday.
Steve is already well aware of this, seeing as I've been bugging him non stop. See, I want a dog. Who wouldn't? Dogs are adorable, sweet, fluffy, and just all around fantastic. I don't know why the hell he keeps denying me this gift, but I plan on continuing to pester him until he finally relents.
It's been a good year. Got the balls to kiss him again in the summer. It was hot, and our air conditioning broke. Seemed like the perfect time to relive a moment I still couldn't remember much about but wanted to.
He reciprocated, of course. And then some. Afterwards, I asked him, "We were together, right? It ain't just in my head?" And he kissed the top of my head and held me close for a minute, not giving a flying fuck about the sweat and heat that coated every inch of our steaming home.
"Yeah, Buck. We were. Do you...would you want to...?"
"Don't ask questions you don't already know the answer to, sweetheart."
So that romance I remembered more and more of each day was rekindled. It was different, sure. Far as I remember, we never had to help each other through flashbacks and panic attacks back then. That's okay, though-things are different, always will be, and I will never regret the series of events that led me back to Steve Rogers' arms.
Sometimes it seems like everything has changed and I'll never be as happy as I was back then. And hey, maybe that's true. But the joy I felt when me and Steve ate popcorn and watched Paper Towns on my birthday last year, that was real. So was the laughter we shared that time I got my arm stuck on a shower curtain (don't ask), the smile he gave me when I baked him a cake on the 4th, the quiet moments that no words need to fill. Those are real.
"Hey, Steve?" He lets out a sleepy hum against my chest, wrapping his arms tighter around me. "Well, hon, you know that it's two months and three days until-"
"Stop asking for a puppy for your birthday. You are NOT getting one."
Even half asleep, Steve manages to sound irritated, and I chuckle. "Aww, baby, come on! You know you want one."
"I do not."
"Yes you do, I know you do!" I say teasingly, "They're adorable, and playful-"
"-and a massive responsibility, and messy-"
"-and great for emotional support!"
"Buck, we've talked about this. I don't want a dog!"
"But maybe we could talk a little more?"
Although our conversation is purely teasing, Steve turns to me with a serious expression. "I am so happy that you feel comfortable asking what you want. Truly, there aren't words for how proud I am. But I swear to God, James, if you ask me one more time-!"
"Alright, alright. I hear ya, Rogers, calm your tits."
Brooklyn the golden retriever joins the family exactly two months and three days later.