Work Text:
Taking off his hat, Steve shoves it into his locker. He’s tired, having just finished a call at the end of his shift, and he’s even more exhausted when he remembers that there’s no one waiting for him when he gets home. Living alone can be both energizing and relaxing, but not when all he wants is to have someone there to greet him when he walks in the door.
He shouldn’t complain. He knows that. He’s got a great job as the fire captain, and he has good friends who love and support him. The problem is he’s also lonely. With no living family members, he doesn’t have a built-in support system, and he can’t remember the last time he went out on a date. Maybe because Brooklyn, Texas, population 23,752 isn’t exactly a hotbed for men who want to date other men. He’s thought about moving a million times, but he’s kind of attached. He loves living here in this college town where it’s not too small that nothing ever happens but it’s big enough that there’s always something to do. Steve just wishes he had someone with whom he could…do stuff. All kinds of things.
“Drinks?”
Steve grunts and gives his first lieutenant a weary smile. “Sorry, Nat. I’m exhausted. Headed home to—”
“Come on, Rogers,” she urges. “I could use the company, and it looks like you could, too.”
“I don’t—”
“Not taking no for an answer. Meet you at Marvel’s in thirty minutes.”
He huffs a sigh that could move mountains. “Fine. I’ll see you there.”
Agreeing to meet her turns out to be a good thing. Steve needs some time out of the house, and Natasha is one of his best friends and definitely someone who tells it like it is. He might also need the kick in the ass she gives him every time he mopes around her.
“You’re flailing, Cap,” she tells him when they’ve had a few drinks. “You gotta do something different. How long’s it been since you’ve dated anyone?”
“Too long.”
“Maybe it’s time to change that.”
“Maybe,” he agrees. “After we get through the school visit tomorrow. That’s the priority right now, not getting laid.”
Natasha gives him a look that says she clearly disagrees, but there’s nothing he can do about finding a date right now. It’s not like there are men lined up on the street for a shot with him. He misses New York where sometimes men did line the streets, but he’s in Texas now. For a small city in a conservative state, he lives in a fairly progressive place, but it’s not exactly the same as the gay scene he left when he moved south. Perhaps that’s not fair. There are plenty of men who are interested in other men here, but he hasn’t met too many of them, at least none that are his age with shared life experiences. It’s all rather depressing, and he doesn’t have the energy to pretend and put on a happy face for his friend.
When she leaves, Natasha gives him a kiss on the cheek, which brings a small, genuine smile to his face. Making his way home by himself, he opens the door and is met with silence. It’s the worst sort of reminder that he’s here alone. Something has to give. He can’t keep going like this.
“Captain Rogers! Captain Rogers!”
Steve smiles at the eager faces before him. As lonely as he felt the night before, today is all about the fresh faces of elementary students who think he has the coolest job in the world. He kind of does. Still, he wishes maybe he’d have someone to talk about this with when he returns to his place. Shoving that aside, he concentrates on the task at hand, and he’s positive his answers match the eagerness of the kids asking question after question about fighting fires and keeping Brooklyn’s citizens safe. At least he thinks he’s managed to keep his face clear of wistful sadness while he speaks. As he packs up his gear and turns to leave, one of the teachers pulls him aside and hands him a card.
“I don’t want to be presumptuous,” she says gently, “but it’s a great resource. Maybe the fire department can work with them to help people?”
Glancing down at the business card she’s just pressed into his hand, he thinks maybe he isn’t quite as good at hiding his sadness as he hoped. It’s a helpline for a call center in town. The name is vaguely familiar, although he’s not sure why. If Steve thinks hard enough, he can almost guarantee he’s heard Shield referenced before when he’s looked back through the logs of their responses at the station. With a grateful smile at the woman looking at him with such compassion, he stuffs it in his pocket and promptly proceeds to forget about it. After all, he doesn’t need help. He’s fine, even if the house feels even more empty than normal when he opens the door that evening and fixes dinner for himself alone again.
Things get worse when he responds to a call later that week and the person who needs help orders him out of her house. Confused, he steps onto the porch to allow his team to tend to her wounds. When she’s carted out on a stretcher to the ambulance, he returns to the interior to investigate what could have caused her injuries.
Steve comes to a halt in front of a wall of photographs and scans them without thinking. They all appear absolutely normal until his eyes land on one that feels like a punch to the gut. Smiling back at him is Brock Rumlow, one of his men on his New York crew. In particular, he’s the one Steve lost in a building collapse that killed half his crew, sent him to the hospital, and ultimately led to his move to Texas when he decided he had to leave the city. He’d blocked out Rumlow’s hometown until just now, but it suddenly all makes sense. This is where Brock grew up, and his mother hates Steve for allowing her boy to die. If he’s honest, he’s lucky she hasn’t approached him about it after he moved here.
Steve could use another drink, but he doesn’t want to admit it to Natasha. Instead, he heads home alone and finds a liquor bottle to drain by himself. He pours shot after shot until the room reels, and he passes out on his bed still dressed and in an awkward position that gives him a crick in his neck by the time he wakes. He’s got a pounding headache and a massive hangover, which seems reasonable after the amount of liquor he consumed the previous night. The only good thing about waking up this way is that he has the day off work. With a groan, he flops back onto his very empty, too-big bed and sleeps through the morning.
When he wakes, it’s late in the afternoon, and he doesn’t feel any better than he did than when he first woke. He putters in his living room for a while, trying to find something to fill his time, but he finally drops into a chair and stares into space.
He’s not okay, and he’s finally ready to admit it. He’s overworked and has very little outside of his job. Good friends make things easier, but he needs something more, something that gives him a reason to get up in the morning and come home at the end of the day.
The card from the teacher peeks at him from his jacket, the one he slung over the arm of his chair before he started drinking. Unsure, he pulls it out and stares at the print. Something’s pulling at him to dial the number, even if he’s convinced he can get by on his own. Maybe, though, if he calls the number, he doesn’t have to deal with this all by himself.
His fingers press the buttons of their own accord, and then the phone rings insistently. He’s just about to press the end button when a voice sounds on the other end.
“Hello. My name is Bucky. How can I help you this evening?”
The voice is smooth and deep and soothing, and Steve wants to hear more of it. Clearing his throat, he returns the greeting and introduces himself.
“Hi, Steve. I’m glad you called. How’s everything going?”
“I’m… Everything’s fine, I guess.” He waits a few beats, but Bucky doesn’t say anything. It’s obvious he’s waiting for more from Steve since he’s the one that dialed a helpline. Apparently, people that call need someone to listen and not speak, but Steve’s at a loss for words.
“I’m here for you, Steve,” Bucky finally prods gently. “No judgments. I’m just a sounding board.”
At that, Steve takes a deep breath. He’s not used to sharing things with anyone, let alone a stranger on the telephone, but somehow he’s convinced Bucky will listen till the end of the call, until they’re disconnected and the line closes. That’s something, and Steve finds he wants that. He probably needs it even more.
“I’m fine,” he repeats. “I really am. I have a good job, friends, a purpose.”
“But…”
It’s just one word, and it’s the one Steve needs. Before he can stop himself, he’s spilling his guts, telling the man on the line how his life feels empty, how tired he is of doing it all by himself, how much he regrets the choices he made when Rumlow and the others died. It pours from him, word after word, sentence after sentence, until Steve’s almost hoarse. He hasn’t talked this much since before he lost his crew and he fled the city and the guilt that haunts him every day, convincing him he doesn’t deserve anything good after what happened.
“How do you feel now?”
Bucky’s voice is gentle and kind, and Steve’s insides twist at those words in the husky voice. He doesn’t have any idea who Bucky is, but he’s single-handedly restored Steve’s faith in humanity with his compassion and willingness to listen while Steve pours out what’s broken his heart and stolen all his hope.
“Better,” he admits. “Much, much better.”
“I’m glad. You don’t have to do this on your own. We’re here whenever you need us. Is there anything else I can help you decide or process?”
Steve considers it for a few seconds, but the venting session’s done more for him than he expected. He needs some time to ponder and evaluate his options. Talking about his loneliness and fears has helped clarify what it is he needs to tackle so he can try to head things in another direction.
“I think I need to… You’ve given me some ideas,” he finally says. “Can I call back in a few days if I hit a wall?”
“Of course, Steve. Everyone’s happy to listen, and you can always ask for me. Bucky’s an easy name to remember.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Steve. Have a good evening.”
When Steve ends the call and leans back in his chair, Bucky’s voice rings in his ear, and he closes his eyes to feel the peace and calm that’s come from speaking to him. He allows himself a few minutes, and then he gets to work. The first thing he does is call Natasha. She’s right. It’s time for him to get back out there. He’s done punishing himself for events that aren’t his fault.
Steve dials the help number again and holds his breath. He’s talked to Bucky a few times over the past couple of weeks, and every call leaves him with a taste of what could be if only he was lucky enough to meet someone who accepts him completely. He’s had to hang up and dial again to make sure he gets Bucky on the line, but that doesn’t bother him. He’s good at working problems to his advantage, strategizing until the end result is something positive.
“Steve, it’s good to hear your voice. How can I help?”
He worries briefly that he’s clogging up the helpline, but he’s never received a busy signal or been put on hold. If Bucky tells him they need the line, Steve has no problem ending the call, but that hasn’t happened yet. Besides, he’s a taxpayer, and he should be able to use the services offered to everyone.
“Hi, Buck,” he answers with a grin on his face. “Good to hear your voice, too.”
“Things going okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” he insists, his standard line, but he recognizes that he feels better when he’s talking to Bucky than he does any other time he’s awake. “I just needed to hear a friendly voice, and I can’t think of anyone better than yours for that.”
His voice catches as he hears what he’s just said. Was that over the line? He doesn’t mean to be overly familiar. He’s grateful for the service, and he has no desire to cause trouble for Bucky or anyone else at Shield. When Bucky replies in a teasing drawl, Steve relaxes.
“I had a dream about my team last night,” he says, his breath hitching on the words. “That building… I should have known it was unstable. I never should have sent them into it until I got the all-clear, but there were people inside. They were screaming. I thought— I thought we had time, and my guys agreed. Still, it was my fault. I should have… I should have gone in myself.”
“Would that be standard procedure?” Bucky asks. “Would a fire captain normally go in before everyone else?”
“No. My job is to oversee, not to engage.”
“If you had gone in, would that have changed anything? Would the building still have collapsed?”
“Likely, yes.”
Bucky doesn’t speak. He simply allows Steve to come to his own realization that the only thing he’d have accomplished would be his own demise. Steve’s known all this for ages, but Bucky has a way of making him accept his own mistakes without causing guilt to crowd into his thoughts.
“You’re still here, Steve. That’s something to be celebrated, not mourned.”
Tears prick at his eyes, and he swallows against the lump in his throat. No one’s put it quite this way, and it means more to him than he knows how to express. He has a sudden urge to meet this man who speaks to him with humor and kindness and acceptance. Maybe it’s unethical to track down a faceless stranger in a help center, but Steve’s the county fire chief. Surely, he can use his connections to find Bucky. If only he knew his last name.
“Thank you,” he mumbles before they end the call. Bucky must have other people to help, and Steve’s too emotional to continue. Already looking forward to the next time they speak, he ends the call and lays his head down on his pillow. His dreams that night are full of only good things and the sound of Bucky’s voice.
Steve dials the number that’s so familiar to him now and waits for an answer. A woman answers the first time, and Steve thanks her and ends the call before dialing again. It takes two more tries, but Bucky finally answers with a chuckle.
“You can just ask for me,” he says in a mirthful tone that’s music to Steve’s ears. “You don’t have to redial a dozen times when I don’t answer.”
“I know I don’t, but it’s kind of fun. Unless it causes problems for the center. I don’t want to do that,” Steve offers in a tentative apology.
“No, you’re fine,” Bucky assures him. “It’s a slow night. Good to hear from you again. How are you? It’s been a few days since you’ve called.”
“I got a dog,” he blurts and then bites his lip. “I mean, I took a step. What you said about not apologizing for living got to me, and I realized I could give that to something else. I got a dog, a rescue one, a big one from the pound.”
He’s babbling, stumbling over his words in an attempt to explain. Although he’s not looking for praise for adopting a pet, it feels good to know he saved the dog’s life. Steve took one look at the massive mutt pinned up at the animal shelter and knew he’d found a kindred soul. The fact that the dog won’t be put down is a perk of the adoption but not the main reason for it. He’s got something to live for besides himself now, and that’s a massive change in the way he’s been existing for far too long.
“That’s wonderful! Dogs are a great motivation to get up every day.”
“Do you have one?”
“Me?” Bucky asks, seemingly startled. “No, I have a cat. White, fluffy, sweet. Her name’s Alpine.”
“Alpine,” Steve muses. “Like mountains?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never seen mountains.”
Steve balks at that. He hasn’t either, but he’s always wanted to go west and see the Rockies. Before he knows and completely without his permission, an entire scenario plays out in his mind—traveling to Colorado with Bucky, holding hands as they hike, kissing at sunset and then cuddling around a campfire. Shaking his head, he cuts off that imaginary loop. He’s moved way past appropriate since he’s never even met the man with the sinful voice that always echoes in his ears long after their calls end.
“Maybe we can see them someday,” he says hoarsely.
Bucky’s quiet for a few beats, and Steve holds his breath. He knows Bucky enjoys speaking with him, that there’s a connection between them, but there’s an ethical quandary about moving beyond two strangers on the phone. Steve wants to meet, but he’s not sure how to ask without spooking the person behind the soothing voice.
“That’d be… That’d be lovely,” Bucky murmurs, and Steve’s heart swells.
“Look—” Steve almost goes for it, but his radio screams at him with an emergency. He’s forgotten about being on call, too caught up in talking to Bucky to think about anything else. “I, uh— I have to go, Buck. I’ll talk to you soon.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. There’s no time. Instead, he radios back to Natasha and jumps in his truck. He’s to the fire station before the engine leaves.
“You seem to be in a much better place than you were a month or so ago,” Natasha observes, and Steve grins at her cheerfully.
They’re at Marvel’s again, this time with the rest of their team, and Steve’s enjoying himself. Clint’s next to Natasha, and Sam’s at the bar getting another round. Loving the camaraderie they have, Steve makes a mental note to do this more often. Just because he’s the captain doesn’t mean that he has to isolate himself from his co-workers.
“I am in a much better place,” he admits. “Stopped beating myself up. Started enjoying what I have.”
Clint narrows his eyes before speaking. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you’ve got your eye on a lady, Cap.”
“Not a lady,” Sam corrects as he plunks beer bottles on the table. “Cap’s got an eye for the fellas. Can’t say I blame him. Women are a lot of work.”
“Says the man who’s lucky enough to get a date with Romanoff,” Steve teases. “She shouldn’t have said yes. It’s got you all cocky.”
“Well, when the shoe fits,” Sam answers with a shrug and slides into the booth on the other side of Natasha before slipping his arm around her shoulders. “What are we talking about? Steve, are you holding out on us? You interested in someone and haven’t told us?”
Blushing, Steve picks at the label on his drink. He is interested, but he’s not sure how to explain to the others that he’s never met the man who makes him smile and lingers in his dreams. He’s got to figure out how to meet Bucky. That’s going to be his project the next time he has more than one day off in a row.
“Maybe,” Steve finally admits with a shrug. “Maybe not.”
“Oh, that’s how it is?”
“Oh, that’s how it is.”
Sam punches him playfully on the arm, and the conversation moves to other topics. They discuss the calls they’ve covered over the past few days before chatting about Clint’s wife and kids. The EMTs they work with are out as well and join them after another round. While he’s out, Steve enjoys himself immensely, but then he has to go home. The emptiness reminds him that the house holds no one for him, except for his dog, although the slobbering and jumping do help ease the solitude.
“How you doing? Huh, boy? How you doing?”
Determined not to fall back on his usual melancholy, Steve takes his dog for a run, unloads the dishwasher, and does a load of laundry before rearranging his spice drawer. That last task is how he knows he’s missed his goal of making it through a night without calling the helpline. Pouring himself a nightcap, he picks up his phone. Flipping to the recent calls, he hits the button and flops down on the couch.
It only takes two callbacks to get Bucky on the line, and when Steve hears that distinctive, soothing voice, his entire body relaxes. Without even realizing it, he’s been holding in too much tension instead of expressing it in healthy ways. Maybe that’s a terrible life choice, but with Bucky’s voice in his ear, he can’t bring himself to care.
“Good evening. Thank you for calling Shield. How can I help you?”
“You can tell me about your day.”
“Steve,” Bucky replies happily. “I wondered if you’d call tonight.”
“Well, it’s a Thursday night. What else is there to do in Brooklyn?”
“Hmm… Nothing, I suppose. I don’t really know, to be honest.”
“Why’s that?”
Holding his breath, he waits for Bucky to explain. Something tugs at his gut, a tiny niggling that something’s not quite right, but he presses down what feels a little like panic and breathes in and out in slow, steady breaths.
“I’ve never been in Brooklyn on a Thursday night.”
Steve feels like he’s been kicked in the stomach by a horse. He has no idea why it bothers him to know that Bucky must live somewhere else, but there’s a pressure on his chest that wasn’t there when he called.
“Oh,” he finally sputters, which is perhaps the lamest response he could have come up with to respond to Bucky’s revelation. Realizing he’s only assumed they live in the same place, Steve swallows against his discomfiture. He feels a little bit like a fool, which is infinitely worse than feeling foolish. The latter is a passing thing. Being a fool is a state of being.
“What did you enjoy doing before you started calling Shield?” Bucky asks, obviously trying to guide their conversation back to the easy camaraderie they’ve enjoyed for a number of weeks.
“Calling you.”
For a second, Bucky doesn’t say anything, but then he corrects himself carefully. “Before you started calling me.”
Shaking his head, Steve doesn’t know what to say. In fact, for the first time since he heard Bucky’s voice, he’s not sure why he’s calling a helpline instead of looking for something real in his everyday life.
“Steve?”
“I, uh…” Trailing into an awkward silence, Steve scrubs a hand over his face and blows out an unsteady breath.
“Are you okay?”
Bucky’s voice is gentle, concerned even, but tonight it grates on Steve’s nerves. Not okay, is all his brain tells him. You’re not okay. You’re never going to be okay. Nothing’s ever going to work out for you, his brain screams at him, and he has to bite down on his knuckle to keep from saying something out loud that he shouldn’t.
“Steve?” Bucky tries again, but it’s no use.
Choking with disappointment, Steve hangs up the phone. He has only himself to blame for the letdown. After everything, it’s simply misguided to hope for something, someone, who’s so far out of reach.
The next morning, Steve does something he hasn’t done in years. He calls in sick, and he definitely is—sick with embarrassment and self-loathing. After hanging up on Bucky the night before, he also ignored the callbacks he got. It didn’t dawn on him that helplines have ways of checking on their callers until a knock sounded at his door and his dog went crazy. When he opened it to find a policeman, he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. In the morning light, Steve’s ready to admit he needs something else besides the fantasy of someone he’s never met, but he has no idea what it is.
Salvation comes in the form of another phone call, but this time it’s from his oldest friend who he hasn’t seen since he left New York. When his phone screen lights up, Steve almost ignores it, but something tells him to answer. It’s a good thing he does because the conversation gives him perspective when he’s lacked that for months.
“Steve, darling,” Peggy Carter chirps through the line. “I’ve missed you. Tell me everything. How’s Texas? How’s the southern Brooklyn treating you? It can’t be nearly as exciting as the one where I’m living.”
Chuckling, Steve agrees with her. “I don’t doubt that for a second, Pegs. You can light up anything, even New York City.”
“Yes, but only Brooklyn, dear. Manhattan is a dreary place. I try to avoid it at all costs.”
“You would. I’ve forgotten what a snob you can be,” he teases affectionately. Of all people, she won’t take offense, even if he says something stupid, which he seems to have been doing more often than not recently.
Sniffing, she retorts, “Well, I can’t help it if I have excellent taste. It’s why I like you, Captain Rogers.”
“Well, I don’t hate that.”
“So, tell me,” she repeats. “How are you? And don’t lie. I’ll be able to tell, and I’ll be very cross if you fib.”
“Oh, Peggy,” he sighs.
“That bad, my darling? What’s gotten you down?”
With a massive exhale, he explains, not leaving out any detail and laying bare all his poor choices and shortcomings. By the time he gets to the night before, he feels about an inch tall.
“And this Bucky,” Peggy asks when he falls silent, “this Bucky makes you happy?”
Groaning, he thunks his head against the back of the couch. “Does he? He’s just a faceless voice to me. How would I know when I’ve never met him?”
“Sweetheart, he’s not faceless. You just haven’t seen it yet. And don’t forget, you and I only met because of an online chat room. You fell for me before we met.”
Shaking his head, he rolls his eyes at Peggy’s dramatic retelling of their first date. There’d been a colossal misunderstanding, and he’d had to gently explain his interest in the same sex. Peggy is nothing if not gracious, though. She’d handled it well and then spent the rest of the night checking out men with him. After that, Steve values her friendship and take on human nature more than almost anyone else. Only Natasha reads a room better than Peggy.
“He’s not local,” Steve reminds her, but maybe that doesn’t really matter. The distance could help bridge the gap between conversations through the helpline to private conversations as friends that lead to something more.
She laughs at his reticence. “Neither am I. Yet, there’s this new-fangled technology called the telephone. You see, it allows two people who aren’t in the same place to speak across distances. Not only that, it has a different button that allows for those using it to see the faces of the people on the other end of the line.”
“You think I’m being ridiculous, don’t you?”
“Of course, I do, but not about this Bucky. Moving halfway across the country was much more foolish than wanting a connection with someone who sounds like a wet dream. Ohhhh…” she coos. “Have you? While you were talking to him?”
Completely confused, Steve asks, “Have I what?”
“Spanked the monkey. Jacked the beanstalk. Beat your meat. Blown your own horn. Tugged the slug.” When Steve remains silent, she says dryly, “Have you masturbated to his voice?”
“Goodbye, Peggy.”
“Goodbye, darling! Good to hear your voice.”
Groaning, Steve disconnects the call, but the words ring in his ear. She wouldn’t have ended the conversation with that phrase if she wasn’t trying to get him into a state. Unfortunately, she always knows exactly what she’s doing. No matter how much Steve tries to think about anything but Bucky’s voice, that’s all he hears echoing in his head.
Resisting his greatest urges hasn’t ever been one of Steve’s best attributes. He picks up his phone multiple times a day just to toss it away. That’s the only way he can resist dialing the number that his fingers know without him having to think. No matter how badly he wants to talk to Bucky, he has to figure out how to live the life he has instead of the life he wishes was his instead.
“But why?” Natasha asks when he explains his decision to her. “Why is it you think you have to settle for something that doesn’t make you happy?”
Sighing, Steve polishes the side of the fire truck and wishes he could be anywhere but under the scrutiny of his fellow firefighter. Natasha has a way of breaking down the person she’s questioning. If she wasn’t so good at her job, he would have encouraged her to become a detective or lawyer. She can figure out anything, usually by pestering someone to death. Right now, he’s that someone.
“I’m not settling,” he insists as he wrings out a sponge. “I’m being pragmatic. Sure, this guy was—is—great, but he’s not real. He’s a voice on a line, someone who has a life somewhere that’s not here. I don’t have any idea if he’s even single. Or interested in men if I’m completely honest. That didn’t exactly come up. We talked on a helpline, not a dating service.”
“So, call him back and find out,” Natasha fires back at him, her green eyes blazing from a very stormy face. “Call him back and get his number. Then call him directly. Good Lord, Steve. You’ve finally found someone that makes you happy, that lights you up and gives you energy and a zest for life I haven’t seen in you since you moved to Brooklyn. Why would you willingly throw that away because you think practical is better?”
“You don’t understand,” he starts, but she isn’t having any of it.
Snapping at him, she glares furiously and barks, “Then explain it. Because right now you’re being a stubborn idiot who’s throwing himself on the shield instead of picking it up and fighting.”
He does a double take at that. There’s no way Natasha knows the name of the helpline. Having never told her what it was, she’s inadvertently used a phrase that means nothing more to her than a pithy saying. To him, though, it cuts right through him. He used Shield, and it brought him Bucky. It also broke his heart.
“Let it go, Romanoff,” Sam calls from the lockers. “Cap’s got his heart set on being a punk. You can’t help him when he gets that way.”
“That’s harsh, Wilson.”
“Maybe, but it’s accurate.”
Dropping the sponge he’s been using at his feet, Steve stalks off to hide in his office. He knows his friends only want him to be happy, but this is more than he cares to deal with today. He needs time, requires some space to heal and re-evaluate. One of his worst habits has always been jumping into something without minding the risk. That’s part of what’s made him a good firefighter. It’s also why he’s been burned more often than he’d like.
Thankfully, his crew lets it go, which means he can too. For several weeks, Steve works on stitching his heart back together and reassessing why he allowed himself to get so attached to someone he doesn’t know and has never seen. He runs more, his thoughts clarifying as his feet pound the pavement, and he takes more joy in the world around him, the people he sees every day, and his work. For all intents and purposes, Bucky’s no longer a part of his life. Yet, the longing doesn’t lessen, even if Steve feels stronger and more mentally healthy than he has in years. Finally, he gives in and calls Peggy. He needs her sharp mind and cutting tongue to finally push him into letting Bucky go.
“Of course, I think you’re being an idiot, darling, but not for the reason you think,” Peggy chortles after he explains he hasn’t called the helpline since the last time they talked. “I don’t know why you’re torturing yourself. Call the boy. It’s been what…almost three months, and you still miss him? That’s more than a friendly voice on the end of the line, Steve. That’s a real connection with a real person, no matter where he lives.”
“But that could be anywhere,” he protests.
“It could, yes, but it could also be an hour away. I’ve never been to Texas, but I hear everything’s bigger there. Which is very intriguing if you’re going to meet a man who’s a native. That could be extremely interesting…”
“Focus, Pegs.”
“So sorry. I got distracted by thoughts of… Maybe I do need to visit. I wouldn’t be opposed to a little—”
“Peggy!”
Clearing her throat, she chuckles at his impatience and squeamishness. “Call him. There’s no harm in checking in.”
“Fine,” he mumbles. “Fine, I’ll call him, but on one condition.”
“Anything, Steve.”
“You have to actually get on a plane and come down here before the end of the year. I’d recommend November when the weather’s shit up there but is still warm enough for shirts with no jackets down here.”
“You’ve got a deal,” she agrees.
After they finish catching up on what else is happening in their respective lives, Steve disconnects the call and stares at the ceiling. Should he call tonight? Does Bucky still have the same schedule? Will he even be at the center, or will Steve call and not get a chance to talk to him anyway? Frozen with indecision, he watches as the world outside goes to sleep and the room darkens.
“Quit stalling, Rogers.”
Saying it out loud finally snaps him into action. The number appears on his screen without him even thinking, and he holds his breath.
“Thank you for calling Shield. My name is Wanda. How can I help you today?”
“Hi, Wanda. My name’s Steve. Is there— Could I— Can I speak to Bucky? Is he there tonight?”
“No, I’m sorry. He’s not here.”
Stomach clenching, he grips his phone hard enough that it cuts into his palm. “Do you know when he’ll be there again? I can call back.”
“Bucky…well, he doesn’t work here anymore. He hasn’t for a few weeks.”
“Oh…”
The simplicity of his answer does nothing to explain how much it hurts to learn Bucky’s no longer within his reach. He’s waited too long, pouted, and nursed his wounds while Bucky slipped through his fingers. As a result, he’s missed his chance. Although he’s still not sure what his feelings are, he knows Bucky’s meant more to him than almost anyone. Since he’s left the helpline, the end of the line is real. There won’t be any more late night talks with the man who’s made him laugh and smile and feel like he’s worthy.
“I’m sorry, Steve.”
Stammering an apology and reassurances that he’s fine, he hangs up the phone and sits with the pain. Eventually, tears stream down his cheeks, but he brushes them away, impatient with his emotions. Crying won’t bring Bucky back to him. All it will do is result in red, swollen eyes that alert his team to his misery. He can’t handle another intervention from Natasha, and he’s well past taking any of the ribbing Sam and Clint will give him if he admits he’s fallen for someone unattainable. He’s heard “high maintenance” one too many times. None of his thoughts stop him from weeping in the shower where the water disguises his tears, and nothing washes away how much his heart hurts at losing someone who talked to him with such love and compassion.
“I thought you were better,” Natasha mutters as Steve stares off into space. “This is a communal meal, Cap. Try to stay with us.”
Steve shakes himself and attempts to engage, but his mind’s elsewhere. Maybe he should schedule a vacation, go see the Rockies the way he’d thought about when Bucky once told him he’d never been. Without meaning to, he’s becoming a liability again.
The alarm goes off, startling him into action. Scrambling for their lockers, members of the crew hurriedly don their gear and tear out of the station, sirens blaring and lights flashing. It’s a warehouse fire, a mostly empty building that’s only used for storage at one of the plants on the outskirts of town. Brooklyn’s practically a ghost town now, having lost population over the past few decades as the younger generations move to the cities.
Diving into the building, Steve watches the flames for a few minutes, observing the way the fire’s spreading and making sure no one’s lost in the smoke. The plant manager thinks everyone’s out, but he can’t be sure. To be absolutely positive, Steve’s gone in, using the opportunity to check for hints of arson or other peculiarities. A flareup licks at his leg causing him to step back when the fire suddenly seems to intensify. With wide eyes, Steve watches as the wall beside him bursts into flame.
“Cap, get out of there before you get trapped. Steve, can you hear me? It’s Sam. Head to the door now. On your left, Rogers. Get out now!”
Giving one last glance at the licking flames, Steve catalogues the red and yellow colors before noticing a tiny flicker of blue and purple in the corner. Turning on his heel, he sprints to the door, shouting at his team to clear the building. He’s just made it outside when he hears a horrifying sound that confirms what he just saw. Part of what’s stored inside is a small amount of ammonia nitrate, and it’s about to explode.
Running as fast as he can, he waves off his team, motioning for them to retreat as fast as possible. Thankfully, they actually listen instead of coming for him, and they make it to the engine before it happens. There isn’t much inside the building. Steve knows because he saw it. Still, there’s enough of the chemical to blow the top off the building and send a shockwave that knocks him off his feet.
Things happen quickly after that. Pulled to his feet, Steve undergoes medical attention as his team’s joined by other fire departments in the county. Together, they get the blaze under control, and there’s no other damage to the plant other than the destruction of the empty warehouse. The worst effect Steve suffers is a massive headache that ebbs slightly once he’s had time to clear his lungs and down a liter of water.
“That was a big one,” Clint announces, stating the obvious once they’re back at the firehouse.
“Makes a person think, doesn’t it?” Sam says and looks pointedly at Natasha who rolls her eyes.
“Fine. I’ll move in with you,” she grumbles. “I was going to anyway, once you stopped acting like it was so important to you. You know eagerness makes me uncomfortable.”
With a grin, Sam wraps his arms around Natasha and kisses her. Whooping, Clint punches Steve on the arm. “Ain’t it great, Cap?”
“It is,” he agrees, although his stomach hurts a little. He wants that, always has, and with Bucky out of his life, it feels farther away than ever.
When Sam pulls himself away from Natasha’s embrace, he gives Steve a look. “Go home, Cap. The EMTs said you need rest. We got this.”
Sore and tired, Steve doesn’t fight his second lieutenant. His firehouse is in good hands, and he wants a nap. He does, however, agree to meet for a drink that night after they’re off their shift if he feels up for it.
After a well-deserved shower, nap, and meal, Steve feels like a new man. His close call that morning has adjusted his attitude, and he muses about the question Natasha asked before they were called out to the warehouse fire. Is he settling, or is he simply appreciating what he has and letting go of what he can’t attain? He’s not sure, but a good way to gain perspective is to meet his team outside of work. After letting out his dog, he gives him a good rubdown and then heads to Marvel’s. He figures he’s earned a beer or two.
Sliding into the booth next to Natasha, he accepts a bottle from her and scans the bar. He can’t remember the last time he actually looked at the clientele when hanging out there, and he’s gratified to see several people he knows from around town. There are also plenty of strangers, one of whom glances around uncomfortably as if he’s there alone and not thrilled to be in that situation.
“Take a look at that guy,” Steve says softly and points the neck of his bottle at the unfamiliar face.
Eyebrows quirking, Natasha bites her lip. “Never seen him before. He’s handsome.”
“Right?”
“Looks lonely too.”
“You think?”
“Like he needs a big, strong fireman to come check on him.”
“Oh, uh… Well, I don’t know about that,” Steve answers as a flush creeps up his neck and burns his cheeks. “I mean, it just looks like he’s here alone.”
Sam smacks his drink down on the table. “Who’s here alone?”
“The hottie at the bar with the long brown hair.”
Clint whistles under his breath. “Dude’s hot, Cap.”
Face bright red, Steve curses every life decision he’s ever made that’s led to being here with these people. It’s not until Sam leaps to his feet and saunters over to the bar that Steve’s alarmed.
“What’s he doing?” Steve hisses, horrified that Sam appears to be approaching the man they’ve all been ogling.
“I think he’s doing you a favor, Rogers,” Clint chuckles and takes a long sip of his beer.
Watching curiously, Steve takes in the uneasy movements the stranger makes. He taps his fingers on the bar, casts frequent glances over his shoulder, and narrows his eyes when Sam puts his hand on the man’s shoulder and motions to their table. The two exchange a few words, and then they’re moving back toward him, Sam leading the way and the other man following along warily.
“Hey, y’all,” Sam drawls. “I’d like to introduce James Barnes. He’s just moved to town, and coincidentally, he’s going to be helping us out soon. He’s been hired as a dispatcher. We’ll have him on the comms soon enough. James, this is everybody. Have a seat by Cap here.”
“Thanks,” he says. “I appreciate the invitation. It’s been a lonely couple of weeks.”
The voice washes over him, silky and sweet, just the way he remembers from so many hours on the phone with Bucky. It can’t be a coincidence that this man has the exact same voice. For Steve, it’s like the sun’s just come out from behind a cloud. Steve’s heart feels like it might burst when he’s finally able to speak. As he does, his voice says the most beautiful name he’s ever known.
“Bucky?”
A surprised smile breaks across that beautiful face. Turning toward him, sparkling blue eyes lock with his. “Steve?”
Unable to believe his good fortune, Steve glances down at his hand, fingers intertwined with Bucky’s as they cuddle on his couch. After they found each other at Marvel’s, Bucky explained what had happened since the time Steve hung up on him. After a lot of soul searching and a push from his kid sister, Bucky decided to do something he’d never really done before—chase after something he wanted instead of watching life pass him by. He’d been caring for his mother and sister Becca since his father died, and that hadn’t allowed him to do so many things that others took for granted. Like Steve, he’d grown attached and developed feelings during their talks on the helpline, so he decided to start over completely. He researched jobs in the state and found one in Brooklyn, and then he’d taken the job hoping he’d find Steve there. His decision was rash and completely impractical, but it had worked.
“So glad you’re here, Buck,” Steve murmurs into the top of Bucky’s head. Burrowing his nose in the long, dark, soft locks, he inhales the scent of his new love and thanks his lucky stars he met his friends for dinner that night Bucky sat at the bar alone.
“Hmm, me too.” Bucky sighs. “You know Becca’s the only person who calls me that. That’s why I used it at the helpline. Privacy concerns and all that.”
“So you’re not really the guy I fell in love with over the phone?”
Bucky chuckles and turns up his face for a kiss. “Definitely not. I mean, who the hell is Bucky?”
“Oh, nobody special. Just the guy I’m sleeping with.”
“Then, I the hell am Bucky because no one else is getting their hands on that body of yours.”
Grinning, Steve tightens his arms to draw Bucky closer. “Feeling a little possessive?”
“After all it took to find you? Hell, yes.”
“In that case…” Steve stands and tugs Bucky up to standing. “I have this big empty bed upstairs. Maybe we should go fill it up.”
“I have something you can fill up,” Bucky teases, but it doesn’t seem funny so much as absolutely something Steve plans to do.
“Let’s go, sweetheart. Some things that are just better when they’re not done via telephone.”
As they climb the stairs, Steve sends a thank you into the universe for the teacher who handed him a business card for a helpline he was convinced he didn’t need. Dialing that number changed his life because of a voice on the other end of the line. He’s thrilled it belongs to Bucky.