Work Text:
Bucky narrowed his eyes as they followed Zemo who was going through all the cabinets at the other side of the room. The room was dark because of tinted windows but enough light got through them to cast the corners of the vast area in dark shadows. He didn‘t want to admit it but he liked it here. The whole condo was wide, light and despite dust gathered everywhere it didn‘t feel as empty and cold as Sharon‘s apartment back in Madripoor did.
He didn‘t like Latvia, nor Riga. Those buildings, small streets surrounded by old architecture with bricks and planks reminded him a bit too much of his missions here in Europe. Europe was vast but the differences between the big cities here and America were big. Big enough to suffocate him in unpleasant memories of perching on top of these rooftops to target his next mission and of disappearing through small streets and narrow openings. And Zemo was too comfortable here though it made sense. America was never home to him.
“Ridiculous, isn’t it?” Sam’s voice distracted him from his quiet calm thoughts and made him turn his head to the right. He felt uncomfortable turning his back to Zemo, but to be honest, that guy seemed preoccupied with his alcohol and candy collection since he opened each can he found. It was a weird image and he wasn’t sure whether he was going to get it out of his head for a long time.
“What?” for a moment he forgot that Sam said anything at all because when he turned around he noticed what he was relaxing with his head bent forward towards the phone in his hands. The dim sunlight reflected right on the left of his face and painted it in warm shade. His eyelashes were curled at the very ends and his eyes moved fast as he read something on his phone screen.
“That bathrobe,” Sam lifted his head and his finger expertly locked his phone as he dropped it in his lap before leaning back on the couch and resting his head on the back of it. His head turned and those big eyes caught his. Bucky had to swallow, quite loudly mind you which he would be embarrassed about later when he replayed the moment in his head before a small smile broke out on his face. He lowered his eyes and turned his face away because his brain could only suggest the reasons why he shouldn’t be seen genuinely smiling at something Sam said, especially when Zemo was just out of earshot and still digging deep into his cabinets. Bucky kept the corner of his eye focused on him and he knew that he could draw out a gun and shoot him in his left shoulder faster than Zemo could take a threatening breath but that didn’t mean that he was willing to risk Sam’s safety and lower his carefully built walls.
“Yeah, it sure is,” his hands were intertwined and resting in his lap and Bucky chose to stare at his mismatched fingers rather than Sam’s eyes which were staring straight at him.
The plates on his upper arm shifted under his jacket uncomfortably once his mind presented him with an image of Ayo’s eyes as she stared him down back in the alleyway. He knew that it’s not going to end well – it never ended well for somebody when the Dora were involved and some part of him desperately wished that Ayo didn’t trust him enough, that she came here right this second and took Zemo with her dead or alive, he didn’t give a fuck. But that would complicate things because even though he didn’t want to admit it, they needed that asshole.
“How did you know that the Dora Milaje are here?” Bucky’s head snapped forward instantly and he drew in a quiet breath. Nobody ever asked him. Nobody even mentioned it – nor Steve during those few moments after the battle, not his therapist during their countless sessions and not Sam until now. Nobody asked about his time in Wakanda – he wasn’t sure whether they didn’t really care because the most important part was done – the trigger words didn’t work anymore – or they weren’t sure what he would be able to tell considering that even though Wakanda was more open now for the first time ever they still kept to themselves mostly. Helped when the need came but didn’t open their doors for anything unimportant in theirs standards.
“Because I know when I’m being followed,” he muttered quietly so Zemo’s ears didn’t pick it up. He wasn’t sure whether he could hear them because the traffic sounds behind those thin doors were loud but Zemo had the talent of surprising them in the most inconvenient moments. “And Ayo let me know she’s here. They have their ways,” he could see out of the corner of his other eye, the other which wasn’t watching Zemo who was closing all of the cabinets, how Sam pushed off of the back of the couch and bent forward. His elbows rested on his widely spread knees as those brown eyes observed him.
He wondered what Sam saw. The man mostly seemed capable of seeing the positives even in the worst of them but since Bucky was mostly negative on every aspect he wondered how Sam still hadn’t left completely repulsed. He couldn’t have been this blind to not see the obvious.
“Ayo is in charge of the Dora Milaje?” his eyes turned towards Sam and he leaned back further into soft cushions. This way his body didn’t cover the other man’s view of Zemo because when he couldn’t watch him at the very least Sam could. He knew how to conceal his expressions usually but he wasn’t trained for that – even Sam himself wouldn’t be able to pick up little quirks on his face as he observed his surroundings. Bucky could pick apart everything on his face – how his eyes weren’t slightly narrowed at the corners which meant he wasn’t annoyed, exaggerated, or concerned for him and his lips were slightly open which showed a genuine interest in what was coming out of Bucky’s mouth. He should probably stop staring so much but as Sam so kindly pointed out, he had a staring problem, and he was going to use that excuse as often as he was capable just so he could watch Sam’s expression.
He never got tired of looking at him – it made him feel sick to his stomach in the best way possible. As if his whole body was in contrast with his staring – his mind was constantly yelling at him to stop being a fucking creep but the way his heart sped up and his stomach swopped in was telling him the opposite.
“She’s not. Okoye is.”
“And you’re friends with them?” Bucky snorted. It was unattractive and unexpected but it made Sam smile. A small smile there, corners of his lips lifting up for a second, nothing more.
It seemed enough at the moment when everything seemingly was going to shit.
“I don’t think the Dora are friends with anyone,” his eyes caught Sam’s stare. “Ayo was the one who…” he lifted his head and wiggled his fingers near his head because the words suddenly were too hard. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to share it with anyone but telling Sam felt relieving at the very least. It still made his chest contract quite painfully because remembering was never pleasant but seeing Ayo after all this time felt good. She wasn’t here to see him – the look in her eyes told him everything he needed to know. The disappointment in them was clear – it made his breath hitch even now.
“They’re not gonna try to kill you for this, right?” concern in Sam’s voice was as clear as the day’s skies. Bucky continued to stare into his eyes and tried to find something there. Maybe more questions about Wakanda or his complicated relationship with their royal guard or even what the fuck they’re going to do next but this was Sam after all. There was nothing.
“No.”
“Good.”
He didn’t know why Sam didn’t move or why he didn’t redirect his gaze somewhere else. His eyes were still looking straight into his and once the beam of sunlight caught two-thirds of his face Bucky could see the amber reflection in them. He probably should have been concerned with how his heart contracted every time they locked eyes and it was quite often – at such tempo he will probably go into cardiac arrest before his time if that was even possible with the butchered-up serum running through his veins.
Part of him missed the time when he could just ignore Sam’s calls and messages and in such a way avoid dealing with whatever this was – how he couldn’t take his eyes off of him, how his heart beat faster and how Sam didn’t seem too concerned with Bucky’s fixation on him.
“You sure that Karli’s not going to kill you? She doesn’t seem the talkative type,” distracting himself from his own wandering thoughts was the best course of action. And if at the same time he’s going to find out what the hell was going in Sam’s head if he was willing to risk the easy way and instead have a conversation with someone who was already losing themselves in the haze of murder to achieve their end. Not that he could judge since his past was painted in the bright stripes of his vibranium arm.
“Remember Wanda?” Bucky narrowed his eyes as his brain instantly tried to scatter the memories and divide them enough to make out the significant or at the very least separate events. Sometimes it was hard – the majority of the memories, especially the ones which he gained in the moment of distress or danger, ironic considering how only twenty years of his century-long life were relatively calm, were cramped together in big clusters. Finding something there was like looking for a needle in the grass. He will eventually find it and probably stick his finger on the pointy end. The similarity was obvious – no matter what, it’s going to hurt.
“The redhead witch, right?”
“Yeah,” Sam leaned towards him even more and a part of Bucky wanted to moved his barely spread legs together and curl into the corner of the couch but showing vulnerability and such weakness was laughable. He wasn’t allowed. “She was just a kid, you know? Steve helped her as much as he could-“
“So you’re saying that she’s just a kid? She killed people-“
“Because she’s desperate. I’m not excusing that but she’s not a lost cause yet,” Sam was staring at him quite intensely. He was sure that the other man could see it in his eyes, understanding his plan and accepting that he’s right. Sam and Steve were similar in more ways than one apparently. Except, that sometimes Sam seemed wiser than Steve. He didn’t have that Brooklyn-born hotheadedness and sheer fucking stupidity because when Sam jumped out of planes he at the very least had wings.
“Why do I always get stuck with the righteous assholes?” it was Sam’s time to snort. The sound and the image which probably won’t leave his mind for who knows how long, because he made that happen, brought a smile to his face. This one he couldn’t and didn’t even try to stop instead choosing to lower his head a bit so it wouldn’t be as seeable. He could hear how Zemo was shuffling his shoes on the floor in the vast bathroom and for a moment he didn’t worry about him. He sure as hell didn’t trust him – the majority of the time he had to control himself from putting his fist through the guy’s head because he fucking deserved it but he spent so many months trying to convince himself that he doesn’t do that anymore. He’s not going to break that. At least not now.
“I think it says more about you than us, Buck,” seeing Sam smiling made him feel lighter. He wasn’t sure why didn’t want to think about it especially with Sam’s eyes on him.
“Just…” a loud breath escaped his mouth as he allowed his eyes to dart towards the closed bathroom door. “You gotta be careful. I might be good but even I can’t take a small army of super-soldiers alone," no matter how angry he would be if something happened to Sam. The only way he could probably do it is if somebody allowed him to grab a machine gun and lose himself to his old habits and slightly abandoned skill set.
“I’m always careful, Buck. And I’m gonna have you at my back so what’s the worst what could happen?” dying, probably.
Bucky kept his mouth shut as his eyes stared into Sam’s bright ones, which didn’t lose the light no matter the change in conversation. His ears were focused on Zemo but he could feel the control of his senses slipping a bit. It was difficult to focus on that bastard when Sam was looking at him like that.
Did he always look at him like that?
It wasn’t anger nor annoyance. Steve would have probably lost his shit if he dared to insinuate that he’s going to stand between danger and the blond but Steve seemingly always had a fucking death wish, especially when it came to Bucky or someone he cared deeply about. Maybe that’s the difference. Sam doesn’t have a death wish but he trusts himself enough to put himself in danger because he already knows how he’s going to get out of it and if he doesn’t he knows that he’ll find out once the moment comes. And he knows that Bucky’s going to be at his back.
He clearly doesn’t know that Bucky would put himself before him. Steve knew that and always got that look in his eyes which showed how much it pained him. Serves that asshole right, since he was the exact same when shit hit the fan.
But Sam doesn’t know that. Good.
“Yeah, okay,” his voice came out as a whisper and he could finally see some of the negative emotions floating through Sam’s features. His eyes scanned Bucky’s face but he wouldn’t see anything because Bucky didn’t want him to see. Maybe if they got out of this alive and Sam wasn’t that determined about their very separate vacations he could teach him to read between the eyes, between the nose and lips, and what the small wrinkle between the eyebrows could mean. If he could even see that without enhanced eyesight.
The realization that he would jump in front of whatever came towards Sam hit him as hard as he used to hit those assholes who jumped Steve in the back alleys. It hurt for a moment, he couldn’t breathe properly for another and entirely for a couple more. Then he gained his senses, allowed that feeling to settle somewhere deep where he could forget it existed, and embraced his new skill. If you could call that skill but everything that he learned for the past seventy or so years was a skill in one way or another.
Except those ones saved him not others. A welcome change, perhaps.
It felt nice for a second as Sam stared at him as if he expected Bucky to explain why his answer was breathless and came out so quiet you could barely hear it before the feeling of dread and contained aggression came back to him just as Zemo stepped back into the condo. Bucky allowed himself one more look into Sam’s eyes and for the first time since this whole bullshit began he realized that maybe he doesn’t have to be so scared and so constipated when it came to Sam. He knew that Sam wasn’t Steve, the differences between them shined brighter than the few similarities and maybe that’s what scared him. Because if he didn’t attach himself to Sam just because he reminded him of his asshole punk that means that it was Sam.
Fuck those thoughts. He was stressed enough as it is, he didn’t need to survive the dread of his feelings. Ew, that shit was too difficult. And not for somebody like him.
“C’mon, Buck. The Dora are coming for him so we have to move it,” Sam grabbed his phone from his own lap and stuffed it in his pocket before getting up. As he was walking past him, or rather shuffling in the small space between Bucky’s knees and the coffee table, he patted his stiff, metal shoulder. This time it wasn’t a strong slap, which he certainly deserved, but a light pat which would have probably been soft if it was his flesh side.
Great, now he’s going to be overthinking this. He didn’t remember shit like this being so difficult back in the day but back in the day, he didn’t have Sam. Didn’t need him and now he desperately wished that if they did go on those separate vacations that they didn’t last too long. Apparently, his brain and body decided that he needs Sam and wasn’t that a fucking rollercoaster of fuck knows what that he needs to figure out.