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*****
It started with a pillar.
A stripped-down pillar in an industrialist bar.
Sam only noticed what happened because he was next to the pillar, waiting for his drink.
Maybe it was just the sound of it; of a man walking straight into a pillar with no questions, no thought of even stopping the disaster from ensuing.
Sam turned to the sound, finding a man on the ground.
Dazed.
A lot scruffy.
Long hair fanned out, messy and a little greasy.
Sam felt like every piece of the man was built to allow him to blend into a crowd. Sam felt like if he never saw this clumsy man run into a pillar, Sam wasn’t sure if he would have noticed this man.
It was hard to think the man would blend now. Seeing those intense eyes staring up at Sam as Sam inspected the man for a concussion, for any injuries.
“Are you okay? How are you feeling?” asked Sam as the man kept gazing up at him.
The man seemed to relax.
“An angel?” murmured the man.
Sam quirked an eyebrow.
“What?” asked Sam, amused.
“Are you a friend of Dorothy?” asked the man, clearly a little out of it, and there was some mix of Midwest and Brooklyn in that accent; a touch of polite; a dash of gravel; like a farm boy found his way to the big city but the farm never quite left him.
Maybe that was it.
Maybe he just didn’t know the lingo.
“You walk into a gay bar and ask if I’m a friend of Dorothy?” asked Sam, grinning.
The man, either high or really hit that head hard, grabbed Sam’s hand and pulled it close to him.
“Are you rationed, sugar?” asked the man, and Sam laughed because what did that even mean?
“I think you might have hit your head a little harder than I thought you did,” said Sam as he gestured for the bartender to call emergency services, “EMTs are coming soon to check up on you.”
“I don’t know. I think I’m seeing clearer than I have in a while,” said the man, his eyes focusing only on Sam as he added, “Bucky. My name is… Bucky.”
Like he only realized that.
Which fed into Sam’s belief that this man needed to get checked out.
The way he was smiling at Sam was cute, though.
“Sam,” said Sam back, because Bucky had given Sam his name, “I’m Sam.”
“Sam,” melted Bucky, the word like butter on his tongue.
The name a prayer crossing Bucky’s lips.
And there was a poem, one by Barbara Hamby, one about “The Word” from something he read in a poetry class, her book The Alphabet Soup of Desire, and Sam found himself thinking about that poem, drifting into –
In the beginning was the word, fanning out into syllables
like a deck of cards on a table in Vegas,
litigious leafy parts fluttering into atoms and cells,
– But then, Sam stopped himself because that was a weird thing to do. Sam shouldn’t find himself reciting a poem in his head as this man tested Sam’s name on his tongue to see how well it fit, how good it was to speak Sam.
Maybe they were both strange. Sam felt like it was pretty odd for this man to say his name like a blessing.
“Not to be an eager beaver and scare you off, but do you have room on your dance card to pencil me in? Cut a rug with me, you swoony sweetheart?” asked Bucky, a little breathy.
Still holding Sam’s hand.
And there was the reminder that this man probably, definitely had a concussion. He wouldn’t be saying nonsense phrases if he didn’t have a concussion. Like dancing to an entire buzzed bar singing offkey to “Stronger (What Doesn’t Kill You)” by Kelly Clarkson was what this confused man needed to do right now. Sam shouldn’t be flirting with a man with a concussion.
“Maybe give me your number. Call me when you recover from the concussion,” said Sam, because he didn’t listen to his own advice a lot of the time.
Bucky frowned.
“Number?” mumbled Bucky.
“You wanted a Sazerac, right?” asked the bartender, reminding Sam that there were other people at this pretty crowded gay bar.
Sam stood up, his hand leaving Bucky’s as he walked over to the bar. The bartender – Monica, Sam remembered her introducing herself a few weeks back – slid over Sam’s Sazerac.
“Thank you for the help. I’ve never seen anyone hit a pillar like that,” said Monica, a little nervous, “It was a little surreal.”
“Not the first time I’ve dealt with something like this,” said Sam as he lifted his drink in a half toast and took a sip, “You didn’t work on boats as a teenager without seeing a few accidents and taking a first aid course. I’m just glad that we have some professionals coming to make sure he’s okay, though – ”
Sam felt a bump from behind him, shoving him into the bar counter.
“Hey,” Sam started, watching a few men in suits pass him.
And he wanted to tell them to watch where they were going. But it didn’t seem worth it. Not with assholes dressed like they just finished a long, slimy day of lobbying.
“Can I have a drink for Mr. Concussion over there?” asked Sam as he pointed behind him, “Or maybe a water? I probably shouldn’t feed drinks to a man with a possible concussion.”
Monica laughed.
“One water, coming up,” said Monica as she handed a glass over.
“Hey, Bucky,” said Sam as he turned around, “Would you like something to – drink?”
But he wasn’t there.
Bucky was gone.
*****
“Now it’s time for our wrap up; Let’s give it everything we’ve got. Ready? Begin.”
Sam liked his morning jog.
“Artificial amateurs aren’t at all amazing; Analytically, I assault, animate things.”
He usually liked his morning jog.
“Broken barriers bounded by the bomb beat; Buildings are broken, basically I’m bombarding.”
But he found himself dragging his feet a bit. He was tired after getting lapped a million times by Captain America himself. He was going home defeated by an annoying, handsome man.
“Casually create catastrophes, casualties; Canceling cats, got their canopies collapsing.”
How had Sam lost so badly to an old man?
“Detonate a dime of dank daily doin’ dough; Demonstrations, Don Dada on the down low.”
Sure, he looked twenty-something and had the speed of a bullet train, but still.
“Eating other editors with each and every energetic; Epileptic episode, elevated etiquette – ”
“Sam?”
Sam’s name cut through the song. Sam found himself pulling his earbud out, looking around for who said it.
Why whoever said his name sounded familiar.
Sam didn’t realize who it was at first. The man was in the most nondescript clothes Sam had ever seen with sunglasses that honestly made the man look more suspicious. He was doing a poor job of pretending to be a random passerby walking in the park. Or. Well. Jogging with Sam now. Sam didn’t realize who it was until he took those sunglasses off and Sam saw that piercing gaze again.
“Bucky,” said Sam.
Sam didn’t even know why he remembered that name. There was something familiar about it. Maybe because it wasn’t all that common of a name. Maybe it was because the man stared at Sam like he could read the entirety of Sam’s being if he just kept staring.
“Ahoy,” said Bucky as he gave an awkward little wave.
Like he hadn’t just been jogging in jeans and an oversized sweatshirt with Sam and staring at Sam for – how long had they been staring at each other? Half a mile? Sam needed to stop staring at this guy too.
“I don’t know why I said ‘ahoy’,” Bucky confessed.
“Yeah, that was weird,” said Sam, nodding.
“Number!” said Bucky, and it sounded like a non sequitur until he added, “You said something about a telephone number, and Alexander Graham Bell wanted people to say ‘Ahoy’ when they answered a telephone, so…”
“Huh. I think I vaguely remember hearing about that before,” said Sam as he tried to remember exactly where he heard that before.
Sam felt unable to look away from Bucky. Was magic real? Because it was kind of impossible to peel his eyes off this man. Maybe this was a spell. A curse. The curse to stare at a very awkward man forever.
There were Norse gods living among us.
Anything could be real.
Maybe staring curses were too.
“I – I saw you, and I knew I needed to see you again. I apologize if I’m bothering you,” said Bucky, a little shy at first before he added with a smirk, “But I must say, I have to be better company than whatever Joe Corn was chasing you around this park.”
Sam snorted.
“You – did you just call Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, a – Joe Corn?” laughed Sam, bewildered by the insult.
“Stevie?” whispered Bucky, and Sam faltered as he noticed Bucky wince; hold his head in growing pain.
Sam frowned.
Sam stopped jogging and helped Bucky to a park bench.
“Did you even get your head checked after last night?” asked Sam, having a feeling that he already knew the answer.
Bucky looked even more muddled as he asked, “Last… last night?”
That wasn’t a good sign.
Should Sam take him to the hospital?
There was an aura to Bucky. His form while he jogged; the way he held himself now. Sam wondered maybe if he was a vet. If he was, a hospital could be overwhelming. Sam didn’t even know if Bucky could pay for a hospital visit.
Okay.
Sam had an alternative that could at least give Bucky some help.
“I work at a VA office. It’s not a hospital, but I have a few friends there that are qualified to at least check if you need to go to a hospital. People who have more than just first aid experience under their belts,” said Sam, “It’s a few blocks away. I can take you there.”
Sam heard something close by. He couldn’t quite grasp the words – were they in Russian? – but some jogger passing them was breathing them out, and in an instant, something shifted in Bucky.
The air around him.
His aura.
The feel of Bucky. The way his back straightened almost instantaneously. The uncanny smoothness to his movements now, the unnatural stillness of him.
Bucky didn’t feel human anymore.
The hairs on Sam’s arms stood up. Goosebumps. Ice down Sam’s spine as Bucky stood up without a word.
“Bucky?” asked Sam, unable to move from the bench as he watched Bucky keep walking.
Walking away.
No response.
Almost robotic.
Was he disassociating? What was happening?
“Bucky,” said Sam, calm but firm as he stood up.
He was reaching for Bucky, but then Sam felt someone shove him, Sam’s world turning horizontal as he fell to the ground.
“I am so sorry,” said a jogger, helping Sam up from the ground, “Should have looked where I was going.”
“Hey, wait – ” Sam started to say, but the man was already off, jogging away with his headphones back on.
Sam looked around for Bucky, worried. Was he okay? But somehow in the span of a few seconds, Bucky was gone again. It felt like the bar all over again.
Where had Bucky gone?
*****
It had been a bit of a day for Sam. Not only had he run three emotionally taxing counseling sessions as well as given two planned personal sessions, but Sam also gave someone an emergency session over the phone only an hour ago. Sam loved his job, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t wear Sam down at times.
Sam groaned, looking down at the text on his phone.
Steve.
Shit.
Sam had told Steve that he would meet up for drinks with Steve after work. Sam really didn’t feel like going out tonight. He needed to curl up on his couch with Figaro and watch the reruns of Noah’s Arc he recorded on his DVR. Maybe order in some ramen. Make himself a strong drink.
Sam texted an excuse to Steve, going through the motions as he locked his office door, walking down the hall as he said goodnight to his coworkers. He got a text back – a reassurance from Steve that they could reschedule for another night.
Good.
Sam relaxed seeing that.
Sam had no responsibilities other than double-checking if his cat needed a little more food and water. That was nice. Sometimes, Sam needed that. He needed to worry about anything except where he was going to order his ramen from. And that was what Sam coasted on as he pushed his sore legs to keep moving, leaving the VA offices and almost stumbling down the stoop into –
“Sam?”
Sam blinked up at those intense eyes.
The feeling of his hands holding Sam up.
Was Bucky radiating heat? Or was Sam just heating up? Maybe it was just Bucky. He was turning redder by the second.
“Bucky?”
Sam wondered if this was real.
This weird man had to be real, right? Monica had seen him at the bar. Bucky had a visitor’s tag on, so he must have signed in at the front desk.
“Hi-de-ho,” said Bucky, cringing at his own words.
Sam laughed. He laughed like he needed to. He really did need to. It was nice to know that Bucky could somehow hold Sam up without even breaking a sweat.
It was nice to lean on someone.
“What? No ‘ahoy’?” asked Sam, gazing up at Bucky.
Bucky took a minute to remember, and there was – he looked a little too happy that he was remembering this.
“Next time, I’ll say ahoy,” as Bucky grinned from ear to ear.
Wait.
No.
“Bucky, are you alright?” asked Sam, his good mood fizzling, “The way you left me at the park…”
Bucky looked confused. As if he didn’t remember then – blink and Sam would have missed the panic in Bucky’s eyes before Bucky calmed himself.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why that happened. It’s, um. It’s not something that usually happens,” said Bucky, “I wouldn’t just leave you like that normally. Things trigger me sometimes. Something in the park must have.”
Oh.
So, military, right?
Bucky was probably military too.
“I’ve been a little all over the place for a while. I’ve been getting better recently, though,” admitted Bucky, “Are you okay? You sort of fell on me.”
Sam should probably prod Bucky a bit more on that. But Bucky didn’t seem to want to talk about it any further. Sam could respect that. And it was nice that Bucky was asking how Sam was feeling.
Sam could slap on a smile. He could pretend he was fine as he stood on his own two feet. He could put up some front.
But it felt like Sam didn’t have to do that.
Sam wasn’t going to put on the usual act.
“It’s been a day,” sighed Sam.
“It feels as if I’m always a little too forward with you, hon, but would you allow me to walk you home?” asked Bucky.
This man was weird. Terribly weird. It was probably a bad idea to walk home with a guy Sam only met a day ago. Sam knew better. He really did. But Sam had trouble shying away from danger and Bucky’s hands felt so firm on Sam’s waist. There was some strange sense of serendipity between them after seeing each other so many times in the span of twenty-four hours.
“Only if you can help me walk home,” said Sam, some of his exhaustion seeping into his words.
*****
Sam didn’t know how this happened.
Sam knew in theory that he shouldn’t let someone he met last night walk into his home and take care of him. But Bucky was so warm and genuine when he explained that he was only there to make sure Sam was set up. And then Figaro trotted up to Bucky and kept purring and rubbing herself on Bucky’s legs. And Sam really wanted someone to take care of him right now.
One minute, Sam was halfheartedly telling Bucky that he would be fine. The next thing he knew, he was wrapped in a million blankets on the couch as Bucky called in ramen for Sam.
“You wanted the ‘spicy seafood ramen’?” asked Bucky as he politely placed his hand over the phone.
Sam didn’t even know why he was letting Bucky do this. Bucky had looked at Sam’s cell phone earlier like he had just walked onto the set of a science fiction film. Bucky at least seemed to know how to use it. Either that or he was a quick study.
“Yes, please,” said Sam as he glanced at Figaro perched atop Sam’s blanket mountain, staring down at Sam a little judgmentally.
Sue, Sam.
He liked being treated nice.
“I ordered myself the same ramen. Never had ramen before,” said Bucky, which felt like a weird thing to say, but Sam let it slide as he watched how nervous Bucky was sitting down on the other side of the couch, “I’ll leave after it all gets here. I don’t want to bother you any more than I am now.”
Sam should leave it at that. He should let Bucky go after the ramen was there.
But Sam wanted more.
He wanted to hang out with this guy.
“Hey, at least stay for a while. Relax. Try ramen with me,” said Sam as he watched Bucky turn his intense gaze at Sam.
Bucky smiled. Sweet and a little lost. A little hopeful.
Sam knew loss. Sam knew what it was like to watch the person he loved burn alive as that person plummeted back to earth like a fallen angel. He knew that time was precious and limited. He knew sometimes you only had this day, you only had now.
It felt as if Bucky knew that too. There was an energy to Bucky that felt as if he was already on borrowed time. Maybe Bucky was.
Sam understood that. He felt like he was living on borrowed time ever since Riley was hit with that RPG.
Sometimes, there was only tonight.
So, Sam burrowed a little deeper into his blankets, kicking some Bucky’s way.
“Don’t sit there with a straight back acting like a cold fish,” said Sam, needing this tonight, even if it was just some friendly company, “Get comfortable too.”
It might have been a little forward.
Sam couldn’t find it in himself to care.
It took a few minutes, but Bucky found it in himself to settle in. How they, two sizable men, fit together on Sam’s couch so well was a question for another day. It was a tight squeeze, but Sam didn’t mind. Figaro did a little, but she settled herself on the top of the blanket pile again.
“Hey,” said Bucky as he awkwardly waved from the other side of the couch.
Sam snorted.
“Hey yourself,” said Sam as he grabbed the remote, “Have you ever watched Noah’s Arc?”
*****
Sam woke up in his bed.
He didn’t really remember getting to his bed.
Sam was pretty sure he fell asleep on the couch, sated by ramen. Sam remembered feeling sleepy and comfy as his eyes drifted closed.
Was it Bucky who tucked Sam into bed?
It must have been Bucky.
Sam stood up, stretching as he looked around to see if Bucky had stayed. But there was no sign of him on the other side of Sam’s bed nor on the couch in the living room. Nothing missing either; no missing money, no missing items, and his safe was okay. No missing food. Bucky hadn’t changed Sam out of his clothes either, not even Sam’s buckle. He must have helped Sam to bed and shown himself out. Which was the normal thing to do. Why would he stay?
Sam walked back into his bedroom to get dressed.
Start his day.
And he almost went out to jog. That was, until he heard a knock at his door. Until he peered out the peephole and saw Steve Rogers and that redheaded friend of his waiting impatiently for Sam to open his door, a sense of paranoia on them.
*****
“What the fuck,” said Sam, a little stunned himself, “It’s that guy!”
“That who?” yelled Nat a little exasperated from the back seat.
Sam didn’t blame her.
It was probably a weird thing to say.
But as they screamed for their lives only moments before and the assassin plunged his arm through the windshield to grab Sam’s steering wheel like he was stealing a floating strawberry in a gelatin mold, Sam found himself looking at those dead eyes.
And noticing the assassin was Bucky.
“The guy – the one who came over and ordered me ramen,” said Sam a little stunned.
“Ramen guy?” said Steve, a little annoyed.
Steve seemed to be a little grumbly ever since Sam confessed that he might have accidentally fallen into a different impromptu date after canceling on Steve.
“Bucky!” said Sam, taking one hand off his steering wheel to point at the man.
It was as if someone flipped a switch behind Bucky’s eyes. Life was there, light.
And confusion.
“Sam?” asked Bucky, through a muzzle he didn’t seem to realize he was even wearing before he heard how he sounded through it.
“Bucky?” Steve said, a mix of confusion, irritation, and disbelief swirling in every letter of the name.
“Stevie?” said Bucky, sounding even more confused.
“Natasha,” said Nat like this was a Whose Line sketch before she pointed ahead, “We’re going to run into a wall if we do nothing, guys.”
Sam could see what she meant. Sam did his best to steer, but there was only so much he could do with this dazed robo-assassin breaking from his programming gripping Sam’s steering wheel pretty tightly.
“You came back from the dead to hit on my crush?” yelled Steve as he made frustrated noises, “What am I saying, that’s definitely what you’d do.”
Back from the dead.
Stevie.
Wait.
“You ate ramen with the man who almost killed me in Odessa?” asked Nat with some understandable judgment.
“He wasn’t a leatherbound robot assassin on my couch,” said Sam as he thought back to that comfy night, “He was cute. And kind of sweet. And my cat liked him and my cat never likes anyone.”
“Your cat never likes people?” whispered Bucky, and Sam wondered if there was a smile under that muzzle, “Wait. Leather? Why am I in leather?”
Which was when Bucky accidentally pulled the steering wheel out.
There were moments in life that felt as if all the world stopped; that time had slowed except for Sam and the people around him. This was one of those moments.
All of them stared at the popped-off steering wheel in shocked horror.
“Whoops,” said Bucky.
Simply.
Easy.
One word.
They all screamed as the car went out of control, the car spinning wildly and throwing Bucky off. Sam felt Steve grab ahold of him and Nat as he pushed them out of the unwieldy car.
Sam searched for Bucky.
Where he went.
What happened to him?
All Sam knew was Bucky wasn’t on the freeway any longer as he, Nat, and Steve barely escaped a car crash.
*****
There was an echo.
The sound of it in Sam’s head as he heard the words from Rumlow. What Rumlow had said back when Sam, Steve, and Nat were captured and almost sent to a mysterious location to be unceremoniously murdered.
“He got reconditioned. The Winter Soldier,” said Rumlow.
Casually.
Cruelly.
“He was supposed to do reconnaissance on Captain America over there, yet he kept finding you,” said Rumlow curiously, “They knew something had to be wrong. So, they went back to the drawing board and poked around in that brain of his again. Gave him some reconditioning in the chair. You shouldn’t be able to snap him out of it ever again.”
It rattled in Sam’s mind as he watched the Winter Soldier bulldoze into Steve, knocking Steve off his feet as he skidded across the surface of the helicarrier toward the edge.
Bucky.
No.
No, he was the Winter Soldier.
Right?
There was no way to get Bucky back. Sam had to think of him as the Winter Soldier.
Sam had to focus on saving Steve.
“Steve!” yelled Sam as he jumped off the helicarrier to follow Steve down, his wings extending out until he felt the whiplash of the Winter Soldier grabbing one of his wings.
There was another one of those frozen moments. When Sam looked up into those dead eyes of the Winter Soldier. Saw him holding onto his wing.
And despite the vacant stare, Sam couldn’t help but utter, “Bucky?”
The Winter Soldier growled as he flung Sam back onto the helicarrier. Sam scrambled to find purchase on the ground as the Winter Soldier strode toward him like Jason in Friday the Thirteenth; slow yet inevitable. Sam pushed up to the sky as he tried to compartmentalize.
Because that wasn’t Bucky.
That was the Winter Soldier.
He told Steve that the Winter Soldier wasn’t the kind you save. He was the kind you stop. Sam knew logically that was true. That there was no other alternative but to take him down. Sam didn’t know Bucky long, only for a day, but he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would want this monster using his body for murder and mayhem.
Yet.
Yet.
Sam couldn’t shoot Bucky. He held out the guns, but he couldn’t do it.
Sam sped around the Winter Soldier, trying to avoid him and make a beeline for Steve, but then Sam felt something latch onto one of his wings, a wire. Sam felt all the power of the Winter Soldier ground him and all Sam could feel was pain. The pain of landing funny and the wingpack making it all hurt more at that angle.
Sam might have passed out for a second. His vision was a little spotty from the violent wrench back to the helicarrier and the searing pain in his back from where the edge of the wing pack hit him weird and hard upon landing, but he could tell when the Winter Soldier clipped one of the falcon wings right off Sam.
Sam didn’t know where he found the energy. He didn’t think he had strength left as he pushed himself up to standing position and prepared for this fight. Sam made fists as he saw the Winter Soldier barreling at him like a bull.
Yet.
Yet.
Sam found himself grabbing the Winter Soldier’s boot as he tried to kick Sam off the helicarrier.
“No,” growled Sam.
It was muscle memory.
In a fight like this, strategy weighed down speed. Sam knew how to dodge an attack; he knew how to use the power of his opponent to his advantage. Sam’s body moved on its own as Sam grappled with the Winter Soldier, a blur of bodies in motion until Sam found himself under Bucky, clinging to him like a koala. Bucky thrashed, but Sam held on for dear life.
Sam wasn’t letting go.
“Fuck this. Fuck you,” hissed Sam in Bucky’s face, feeling his frustration boil over, “You push yourself to the surface and you explain yourself, Bucky Barnes. This is bullshit. You’re not buried in there forever. Not when my cat likes you. Not when I – ”
Sam should be annoyed at himself for feeling this way. He should be pissed at Bucky. He should be infuriated by the Winter Soldier.
But life was so short.
“Not when I like you,” said Sam as the Winter Soldier struggled even harder, “So you don’t get to be replaced by this fucking monster. You don’t get to leave me in the lurch, Bucky.”
The Winter Soldier stilled. And Sam could see Bucky in those eyes again.
“Sam?”
Sam laughed because he fucking knew it. There was no way Bucky was losing a fight for his body with some programmed in assassin.
Sam flipped them over to check. Sam knew the Winter Soldier wouldn’t allow himself to be overtaken like this, lose the advantage. Yet Bucky easily allowed Sam to sit atop him. Sam smiled from above.
“Ahoy,” said Sam, feeling exhaustion hit him again, “You know, I don’t usually ride someone until my third date.”
They both laughed. A little too hard. A catharsis in it. A relief in knowing he was atop Bucky, not the Winter Soldier.
Well.
Until they realized the Winter Soldier, in his thrashing, had moved them to the edge of the helicarrier. As the helicarrier dipped slightly to one side, the two of them tipped over the edge, freefalling.
*****
Sam gasped awake, sputtering and gagging water as he felt hands on his face, someone – was someone saddling him?
“You know, I don’t usually let someone ride me until the third date either,” croaked Sam as he coughed up more water.
“Oh, really? I must be special,” said Bucky, wiping tears from his eyes before he patted Sam’s chest, “Don’t do that again.”
What had happened?
Sam remembered flying.
No.
Falling.
They were falling because the helicarrier tipped them both off. Sam maneuvered so that he was holding Bucky. He had popped the other falcon wing off. He pulled the parachute wire.
And then –
The parachute didn’t go off.
Sam remembered the panic as he desperately tried to figure out what was wrong with the parachute while Bucky tried to steer them toward a river.
And then he woke up here.
Or.
Wait.
The river.
Bucky took most of the brunt of the dive.
The parachute finally ejected, tangled around Sam, pulled him down into the deep.
Into darkness.
Yet, Sam was alive. Not in the river.
“What? Don’t drown again?” rasped Sam as he tried to take in his surroundings, “Not planning on it.”
Where was he now?
Trees. On the edge of the river. The Potomac River.
“Are you okay?” asked Bucky, before he followed it up with, “Bad question. Of course you’re not.”
Sam smiled.
“Nice of you to ask, though,” croaked Sam, “Is it a bad question to ask if you’re okay? I know you’re not either.”
Bucky laughed.
“I don’t know who I am, Sam. I’m really not in a good place. I fear if I go back up there, if I try to fight with you all, someone might drag me back to that chair, make my brains more scrambled than they already are,” whispered Bucky, strained and broken.
Sam took Bucky’s hand. The metal was surprisingly warm in Sam’s. Sam hadn’t expected it to be warm.
“Then you’re going to have to leave,” rasped Sam, “Until we figure out how to deprogram you. Or whatever they did.”
“We?” asked Bucky as he raised an eyebrow.
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” coughed Sam, “It’s weird to say since we’ve only known each other for a day, but – I don’t know. I feel like there’s something here that’s worth it.”
Sam felt the kiss.
An all-encompassing burst of emotion that made Sam feel like he was drowning in more, in closer, in yes.
Sam tried to pull Bucky back for more of that kiss.
But then Sam heard the comms in his ear. Steve saying something about the helicarriers. Nat talking about Rumlow.
“You’re needed,” said Bucky as he stood up and helped Sam up to Sam’s feet, “And I need to go.”
Sam took a breath.
Centered himself.
Focused on the mission.
“Go hide. I’ll find you later,” said Sam as he spotted where the Triskellion was from the river.
“You’re going to find me?” asked Bucky smiling.
“You know I can,” said Sam with a wink.
Bucky pulled Sam in for one more breathtaking kiss.
“For good luck,” said Bucky, “More for me than you.”
Then he winked, the fucker, before sprinting away as fast as a car. Which was Sam’s cue to start running back to the Triskellion.
Sam knew he was going to hurt after this. He knew he didn’t have his wings right now. He knew he was running on mostly adrenaline at the moment. But he was going to finish this battle. And after that? He would find Bucky Barnes and kiss him senseless.