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James Buchanan Barns’ eyes had always been annoyingly blue, stern and cold but that day –pondered Sam Wilson – they were terrifyingly icy. There was a raging tempest brewing in them ready to burst through his watery cornea any minute and swallow the world.
‘So you think what he did was right?’ the words seeped through Bucky’s clenched teeth like venom seeped through keen snake fangs. The man was pacing, combat boots heavy on Sam’s hardwood floor, stride faltering every once in a while then picking up speed again.
‘I never said that! You keep twisting my words man, I already told y- will you stop doing that?! Neighbors are gonna’ come up! ’ Sam didn’t like it when Bucky paced. His body was a weapon after all and wound up, a force to be reckoned with, a mass of meat and muscle and metal that couldn’t be slowed to a stop easily.
His boots were colliding with polished wood too loudly.
Those frozen eyes snapped to Sam, something old and long forgotten swirling in their turbid depth. He huffed a rough breath through his nose, nostrils flaring but the rhythmic banging of his feet died down. Instead, Bucky leant up against the backrest of Sam’s burgundy couch and crossed his arms over his broad chest.
‘Thank you.’ Sam sighed and shut his eyes ‘Listen, I know it ain’t easy for you cause trust me it ain’t easy for me either but Steve made a choice. And his choice was-‘
‘To leave us.’
‘His choice was a life that wasn’t full of suffering and awful responsibilities! A life where he could finally just…rest. Rest by the side of the woman he loved. C’mon Barnes you know he deserved that after…everything’
Another huff of air left Bucky, his chest swelled with it.
‘Yes. Yes he did. Steve was…selfless, caring. He may have been the best man I’ve ever known. But I don’t know who he is anymore!’
Bucky Barnes’ left leg shook with buzzing nerves, with the robustness of a whole army of soldiers marching and his steel toed boot began its restless thumping against faded hardwood once again.
‘He’s still who he used to be. He’s Steve. Still selfless and caring and still good! He was never a perfect man who made perfect decisions, far from it. But Barnes you can’t fault him for this one.’ said Sam.
‘I know.’ Bucky sighed, a heavy and tired sound. He rubbed at his eyes with two knuckles, one bruised up flesh and bone, the other cold metal ‘I know, I don’t blame him. I’m happy for him actually…really damn happy.’
‘Yeah…yeah, I am too.’
Silence, heavier than lead fell over them and they stood their ground under all that pressure. Basked in it.
‘He left us with a task. And he gave you that.’ Bucky held up a trembling hand and slowly pointed to the corner of the stuffy living room.
Sam’s eyes darted towards the shield propped up against a beige wall. Vibranium, red and blue and white gleamed proudly under twinkling lights dangling from the low ceiling. The star in the middle shone brighter than any constellation delicately painted in the night sky, with the power of a thousand suns trapped behind it.
‘How does it feel to have a whole nation leaning on your shoulders?’
‘Quit it, that’s not helping either of us right now! And I’ve already said: that thing don’t belong to me. Feels like it’s someone else’s.’
‘Well you have to start getting used to the thought that that someone might just be you Sam!’
‘That shield comes with expectations! Many of them. It’s a symbol this place don’t want me to wield! To be honest, I don’t know if I could either…not even sure I want to. Not sure at all.’
The shrewd winds stirring his impossible blues seemingly lost their vigor and the piercing frost that had overtaken Bucky’s eyes started to melt then, and under all those honed shards exhaustion peaked through.
‘Steve chose you and he chose you for a reason.’
‘Hm. Whatever man.’
Sam pushed himself off the doorframe - which he had deemed the perfect structure for support earlier, when they had entered his apartment hurling words they didn’t really mean at each other’s heads – and tugged at the sleeves of his navy blue sweatshirt. Taking smooth and swift steps he turned towards the kitchen.
‘‘s been a long day. You want a beer, I’ve got two chilled?’
‘Yeah, why not. Pretty sure I haven’t had alcohol since the forties anyway.’
‘Really? Well now’s your golden opportunity then!’ Sam exclaimed, lightness creeping into his voice for the first time in a long while. He set the bottles on the counter, stained glass wet, the slightly curved shape of them glistening with condensation. ‘These are far from the best-‘ pop, off came the first cap ‘-but you gotta’ make do with what you’ve got right?’ the second bottle fizzed when it opened, a few drops of bitter foam spilled over the sides. With a quick swipe of his finger, Sam stopped the froth from dripping further down then lifted it to his mouth. ‘Hm, you now what? Not bad, not bad at all.’
Rounding the corner back to the living room he noticed Barnes had moved from his spot, perched on the plush couch.
He stood with his back to the door, leather pulled taut over his shoulders. The man was rubbing at his right upper arm, digging metal into a sore spot, a tight coil of injured muscle as he bent his head forward, inspected something closely.
‘What you find there you great cyborg? What’s got ‘em gears spinnin’?’
When Bucky turned towards him, the expression scrunching his face was unreadable. A barley-there crease had found refuge between his brows and something lively twinkled in those cold eyes – a shimmer Sam had never seen before - like sunshine bouncing off a glacier, blinding and so, so beautiful.
‘You’ve got a record player.’
‘Well yes.’ Sam chuckled ‘I s’ppose I do have one.’
‘And you have records too.’
‘Mhm, all this stuff belonged to my parents. These-’ he carefully placed the damp bottles atop the coffee table and strolled over to where the aged vinyls lay sprawled across his desk. ‘-were my ma’s discs. Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald, Édith Piaf, mostly jazz music so that’s right up your alley old man. Boom! See, here you go…Judy Garland.’
For a while Bucky just stared, eyes trained upon the actress gazing wistfully at something in the distance. Stared with those chilly eyes of his, stared until they stung a little.
‘Could you…could you maybe put that one on? I haven’t heard her sing since…well since…never mind.’
‘Yeah, for sure man!’ Sam carefully slid the vinyl from its plastic enclosed album cover and placed it on the spindle. ‘You listened to her a lot back in the day?’
‘Listened to her a reasonable amount.’ Bucky’s eyes glazed over like the bittersweet memories flooding his mind wanted to escape, like he was looking at them play out right there in the middle of Sam’s cramped living room . ‘One day Steve told me about this exciting poster he’d seen on his way home. ‘The Wizard of Oz, first motion picture in technicolor!’ it said. So we got what money we had and went to the Apollo…um, Apollo movie theater to watch it.’
‘Bet that made a hell of an impression.’ Sam reached for the tone arm.
‘Heh, yeah. It really amazed us at the time that they could transfer all those vivid colors to the big screen. Anyway, a Friday night some friends and I were drinking and one of the boys told us that he had gotten his hands on a recording of Judy’s and that he brought it with him so we could dance.’
The sound of violins crooning a pleasantly mournful and dreamy melody blared from the record player cutting through the sweltering atmosphere. A sweet smile - something reminiscent of snow melting in early March – spread over Bucky’s face.
‘So the ever stoic Sargent Barnes used to dance? Interesting. Who’d you dance with big guy?’
Determination, fierce and fiery hardened Barns’ features. He swallowed.
‘Usually danced Lindy-hop with the ladies, couple of times with some…some men. Always preferred them to the girls though…’
Sam watched Bucky with intent, with a purpose far greater and vaster than he realized at the time. He examined the way those lips sculpted quietly spoken words, vocalized feelings his not-quite-friend had probably never admitted to before.
Somewhere in the distance, overlapping the sharp crackling of static on the recording, Judy Garland began to sing about a rainbow bordering lands more beautiful and rich than any human could ever imagine. A rainbow, which, over its mystical arch, proved to be a haven for blue birds.
‘There was this man, his name was David and he was exceptional at swing. I first met him when we were still kids, our families used to do get-togethers every year when Hanukkah rolled around. Then in forty-one we got drafted. War made him like whiskey a lot so after getting buzzed we’d dance together until our feet hurt. One drunken night we somehow ended up stumbling into an empty room in our barracks, away from everyone and…well we…khm.’
Metal digits tangled up in a lock of chestnut hair, they let go, tangled up again then they tucked it behind an ear. Bucky’s face dropped and bitter sorrow crept into those once shimmering ocean eyes.
‘After that he went missing. Couple of days later I found out someone ratted David out and he got a blue discharge. Never saw him again.’
Sam looked at the broken pieces of a man laid bare in front of him like Icarus looked at the Sun. If he got close, close enough to take those pieces sharpened by time and pain, by the ugliness of the world would his wings melt too?
‘I’m really sorry that happened to you. ’
‘It felt good Sam. Real good and right. Am I messed up for liking it? Always thought I was, though now I guess it doesn’t matter. One more thing to add to the list.’
‘That’s- hey, Bucky.’ He whispered, trying to catch the other’s gaze. ‘That’s okay. All of it is. You’re okay. Things have changed, you don’t need to hide that stuff anymore. And you ain’t broken for likin’ it. Here- ’
A big, rough hand reached for Bucky’s smaller, rougher one, cradled it, surrounded it with calming warmth then tugged.
‘What are you doing?’
‘You said you liked dancin’ so show me how it’s done! Teach me the…what you say it was? Lindy-bop?’ Sam let his mouth relax into a lazy smile with mischief glinting on his lips.
‘Lindy-hop’ the other man corrected emphasizing ‘hop’ and popping the ‘p’. ‘But I can’t. Haven’t danced since forty-three, I’m rusty. Besides this song is way too slow.’
‘Come on man, you’re no fun! Fine, fine we’re slow dancin’ then!’
The two of them stood on the dusty, old carpet hastily thrown over faded planks of wood while the vinyl, making lazy rounds in the record player sizzled and whined. Judy Garland’s trilling about lemon drops and chimney tops seemed louder than before. Sam dropped Bucky’s hand and softly, so softly curved his palms over the other’s lean waist.
‘This okay?’ he asked, voice honey sweet. Bucky sucked in a breath through his mouth, his chest expanded with it.
‘Yeah.’
‘Good. That’s good. Put your hands on my shoulders then.’
After that the music wrapped them up in the longing song of a previous generation and they swayed with it gently, stepping in tandem with each other. They danced like smoked curled, like clouds gathered and morphed into strict grey masses. Then Sam caught Bucky’s frostbitten gaze and electricity, a whirring bolt of lightning struck between them, charged their worn out bodies. The dexterous digits resting on Bucky’s body flexed, squeezed the meat on his durable bones. They clutched tight like a vice, like they could erase all the torment etched under the skin and coded into the very being of the man in front of him, the puzzling and bizarre man flung out of time.
‘So are you?’ Bucky whispered, voice raspy and unsure.
‘Am I what Buck?’
‘You know…a friend of Dorothy’s?’
‘Hm, what’s that mean?
The man held in Sam Wilson’s arms shifted on his invariably steady feet, fingers, both flesh and metal drumming along the stretch of his wide shoulders. A nervous tic.
‘Well do you like it? With men?’
‘Oh! Is that an extremely outdated term for dudes who like getting it on with other dudes? I mean I like a bit of everything so yeah. Yeah, I do.’
Calloused hands landed on the sides of Sam’s smooth neck then tenderly slid up to cup his angular jaw between trembling palms, one cold and unyielding, and the other slick with anxious sweat. Bucky leaned forward plastering his sturdy body - high strung like a revolver, locked and loaded – along the other’s heaving chest. His voice was low, bordering the desperate whine of a soldier dehydrated, begging for water.
‘Please Sam. Please I need this. I still feel like I'll turn to dust…’
Something shifted between them. Like tectonic plates moving then crashing with the deadly force of a frigid and unforgiving god.
‘Hey, shh. Shh, I’ve got you. We’re here, we’re alive. Feel all that skin you’re touching? That’s real, all of it is.’
When they collided somewhere in the distance, an eternity away from their private corner of the world a supernova exploded and Sam understood why Icarus had flown so close to the thing that was incandescent destruction. He too wanted to wrap the Sun up and never let go, wanted its blazing kisses until the meat and muscle burned right off his bones.
Burgundy cushions dipped under their weight, made place for them in between plush pillows. Bucky’s lips seared the junction where Sam’s herculean shoulder met his neck with urgency as they moved together, limbs tangled and bodies working tirelessly. He clung to the other man like a lifeline, like if he let go even for a second the floor would slip from under them, and the world would double over, fold with a sickening crunch, and cave in.
Tired, shaky hands - metal and flesh - crept over exhausted, hunched muscles as they clutched at each other tightly. Tighter than the small, airless apartment choked them, tighter than all the universe - the stars and galaxies, people and their finite time - squeezed their leisurely merging bodies in its iron fist. They held on because there was no other option. They held on despite not making any sense, held on because everywhere their fingers and nails bit yielding flesh there was life blooming anew.