Work Text:
*****
1
“Boo!”
Bucky was a trained soldier.
He was a super soldier.
He was recently one of the most infamous assassins in the world; a tool used to shape the twentieth century.
Of course Bucky jumped.
“The look on your face,” laughed this man as he sat down next to Bucky.
Adorably big smile. The gap in his teeth captivating. There was a joy in his voice; a glee from catching Bucky Barnes off guard. Bucky’s mind, filled with facts he didn’t learn himself, pulled the name from that mere smile, that voice – Sam. Samuel Thomas Wilson. The man currently eating one of his slices of baguette with that made at the cafe apricot jam.
“How did you find me?” asked Bucky, and maybe Bucky should say it with some sort of edge of intimidation, but all that was coming out was confusion and maybe distraction as Sam wiped some jam from his face only to lick it off his finger.
Just.
Casual.
Very casual.
With the man who Sam didn’t know was safe.
With a man.
Was that allowed now? Was this not supposed to feel intimate? Or maybe that was just Bucky.
“Oh, you think you’re good at hiding?” asked Sam as he quirked an eyebrow, taking another bite out of Bucky’s baguette and apricot jam.
Bucky supposed it was Sam’s baguette and apricot jam now too.
“I was an assassin,” Bucky countered perhaps a little too loud before adding quieter, “I was a friend of Dorothy’s. I know hiding in plain sight.”
Bucky was on a completely different continent. He had only used cash this entire time. He had a hat and sunglasses on. How did Sam Wilson find him?
“Revisited Howling Commandos by Sylvie Laufeydottir,” said Sam thoughtfully, “There’s this documentary by William Burnside called Howling Commandos. He had made it in the fifties with the left behind reels filmed by Darnell Wade and Jean-Paul Beaubier, though, William had chopped up the footage and given the credit of filming it to a buddy of his named Jack Monroe. Burnside had edited the reels liberally, cutting everything that wasn’t to his political liking and spinning it with a very patriotic flair. It’s propaganda to a tee. His documentary was the one they showed on television, was on repeat on the History Channel. It was the documentary about the Howlies.”
Oh.
Oh, Bucky remembered this. It was a vague, distant memory lost in a swirl of Winter Soldier commands and skills. But it was there. The duo who, with no permission from the military, asked if they could join the Howlies for a few months.
Everything they had been able to catch on film.
Bucky had been much more comfortable with them than he probably should have been. He felt a little safer with them; friends of Dorothy’s as they were as well. And Bucky had become near invincible, from what he could tell at the time. There was a lot that he had let them tape without Bucky thinking of the consequences.
Sam smiled, though.
“I hadn’t really thought much when Riley dragged me to Revisited. I didn’t expect to learn that the original cinematographer and director were queer icons who were blacklisted from Hollywood or that Sylvie had, in the late nineties, found forgotten copies of the original reels and had used that to create a documentary more in line with the original intent,” Sam explained softly, “And in there, you said wanted to visit Les Deux Magots once France was liberated. So…”
“I mean, I could leave behind Hemingway, I don’t need to think about him being here, but Camus? ‘Si le monde était clair, l’art n’existerait pas’,” Bucky quoted fondly, the words bubbling up as he remembered what he had told Darnell and Jean-Paul, “‘Ce coeur meme qui est, le mien me restera ä jamais indefinissable. Entre la certitude que j’ai de mon existence et le contenu que j’essaie de donner et cette assurance, le fosse ne sera jamais comblä. Pour toujours je serai etranger ä moi-meme.’ ‘La lutte elle-même vers les sommets suffit à remplir un cœur d'homme. Il faut imaginer Sisyphe heureux.’ How do you argue with Albert on the beauty and absurdity in the mundanity of life? How do you not want to live for the joys of the everyday?”
If the world were clear, art would not exist.
This very heart which is mine will forever remain indefinable to me. Between the certainty I have of my existence and the content I try to give to that assurance, the gap will never be filled. Forever I shall be a stranger to myself.
The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.
Sam seemed to hang on the words. The French Bucky did his best to use which from what he learned from Jean-Paul, he apparently had a Frankensteinian cross between a Brooklyn and Romanian accent whenever he tried to speak it.
Maybe Bucky was reading too into it.
But still.
Sam seemed entranced as Bucky took a slice of their baguette, tasting a bite of fresh bread and sweet apricot.
“Also, I’ve been following you for a week and you kept walking past this place,” said Sam, grinning as Bucky choked on his baguette bite, “I was going to ask if you’d ever walk in, but then I saw you and I had to say hi.”
“I could have been dangerous,” wheezed Bucky, recovering from his baguette bite, “I could have taken you out at any moment.”
“I don’t know,” said Sam with a shrug, “I don’t think you will.”
And Sam was right.
Bucky wouldn’t. Not if he had any say in it.
“Are you going to tell Stevie?” asked Bucky, trying not to show how nervous he was.
He didn’t know how he felt about that. Seeing Stevie again. Bucky had always saved Stevie. He had always been there to protect Stevie. And that status quo had started shifting before HYDRA took Bucky. Stevie had saved Bucky from HYDRA that first time.
But Bucky tried to kill Stevie.
And there was the question hanging in the air that Bucky hadn’t asked. Had Sam already told Stevie?
“Do you want me to?” asked Sam.
“… Not yet,” said Bucky finally.
“Then I won’t tell him yet,” said Sam as they both continued to finish the baguette.
And maybe it was terrible that Bucky relaxed at those words. But he couldn’t help but smile as Sam stole the last slice of baguette from Bucky; annoying; but all the same, a charm that made Bucky gravitate toward this man.
*****
2
Bucky Barnes.
Legendary hero.
Infamous assassin.
Man building up his courage to come over and talk to Sam.
Sam saw Bucky hours ago. Bucky stood in what looked to be a suit much too formal for the club Sam and his VA coworkers chose for Sam’s birthday, practicing the look. A look to draw a person in. To start a conversation. To come off as charming and on top of things.
Sam knew this man was definitely not on top of things.
Not that Sam was necessarily feeling put together right now. Closer and closer, that anniversary drew.
Not his death.
But their elopement.
And while Sam loved the memory, it was only the second year since Riley died. Sam couldn’t say that he was used to waking up alone. He sometimes still called out to Riley to tell him dinner was ready; made two servings. He sometimes found himself wanting to send Riley the photo of a bird he saw at the park.
Sam wasn’t sure it was a surprise.
Sam, while stretching before their morning jog, had told Riley, “I love you so much.”
Riley had answered, “Want to get married?”
And that was it.
Sam splurged in buying tickets for Sarah, Jody, and their kids for the next flight to the District of Columbia. They all drove over to the courthouse and that was that.
Married.
And then Riley was gone.
Sam would see Riley all around him.
In Figaro, the cat that Riley had before he even met Sam. The old, chubby, scruff of a cat flopped on the couch, growring about wanting all the rubs that Riley usually gave. Curling up next to Sam like he used to with Riley. Sometimes looking out the window, as if waiting for Riley to come back.
In their townhouse. The townhouse Riley had found for them; had convinced Sam was a good idea. Where Riley mapped out a future; outlined a world with friends and family, possibly kids. A fantasy of growing old together.
Even in this club. This club where, even before they met again in the Air Force, they locked eyes and Sam knew it was over. Then, Sam knew it was over. A goofy grin, a few bad dance moves, and a charming joke away from forever.
What Sam thought would be forever.
Riley lived in memories.
And it hurt so good to see him everywhere.
And usually, Sam was finding himself falling deeper and deeper into thoughts of that loss two years ago, but here Sam was, absurdly distracted by this strange weirdo mouthing out different pickup lines at the edge of the bar counter as he nursed the brightest appletini Sam had ever seen in his life.
And Sam was thinking about taking out the middleman and revealing that he had seen Bucky already. Sam needed to know what the hell this man was trying to do here. Or if Bucky was ever going to build up that courage.
For the first time in the night, Sam did actually move away from his friends. He had gestured about getting another drink and coming back in a moment. Sam was going to poke at this old man who kept popping in his life.
But Bucky was slippery, and somehow, within the few seconds Sam had turned away from Bucky and had told his friends he was getting a drink, Bucky had left the bar.
Disappeared.
Oh.
Sam was a little disappointed.
Sam hadn’t expected to feel this disappointed about Bucky.
He had hoped to have some fun with Bucky.
“Are you rationed?”
It was a growl, low and rumbling and something there. Bucky leaned on the wall like he was trying to do his best Humphrey Bogart impression. Playing Rick Blaine in a club a ringtone rapper would use for the backdrop of their music video.
Sam accidently laughed.
Possibly because somehow, bizarrely enough, Sam wasn’t expecting this.
“What does that mean?” asked Sam, feeling like he missed something.
“What. Nothing. Never mind. I didn’t say anything,” said Bucky as he straightened up, “Who said that?”
Sam snickered.
“All that time at the bar, and that’s all you got for me?” asked Sam, bewildered.
Maybe a little too entertained by that.
“I got other things,” grumbled Bucky, as if caught in the act of having nothing else.
“Oh, really?” prodded Sam, unable to hold back a grin, “Okay. What else, big guy? What do you have for me? What do you have?”
Much smoother than Sam ever expected, Bucky placed his arm around Sam, spinning Sam into a dip. Sam’s breath caught in surprise. He found himself lost in the confidence in Bucky’s eyes.
“I mean, this isn’t my first time in a dance hall. My ma brought moonshine to speakeasies. Many a dancer has given me a tip on a two-step,” murmured Bucky, “I’m a real ducky shincracker, if you’ll allow me.”
Sam couldn’t hear the music.
He couldn’t look away.
“Ducky shincracker?” asked Sam, that nervous laughter catching him again.
And Bucky.
Snickered too.
The both of them laughed.
Just a couple of guys laughing mid-dip. Nothing weird going on here.
“Never met a cloud walker before? A pepper shaker?” asked Bucky as Sam kept giggling, “A rhythm rocker? Not cutting many rugs?”
“Okay, I got that last one,” chuckled Sam.
“Got anyone on your card, Samuel?” asked Bucky, almost hypnotic.
And unable to say anything else, Sam, cornily so, found himself saying, “I can write you in.”
Sam wasn’t sure if he had ever been whisked away. But he felt the fluidity of the action as Bucky spun them around the dancefloor, a whirlwind of energy, movement, and enthralling presence.
*****
3
“Bucky?”
Bucky looked up from his book.
Sam.
Sam always seemed to find Bucky at these vulnerable teetering between different eras of his life. Bucky shouldn’t be surprised that Sam found him in the med bay now as the Citadel doctors kept an eye on him to see if whatever Shuri did to him to deprogram the Winter Soldier stuck. That and to make sure being on ice for six months doesn’t have any side effects.
Maybe Bucky didn’t expect to find Sam in his pajama pants and a t-shirt.
But it felt apt.
Sam looked tired. Immensely tired.
Was Sam not sleeping enough?
“Are you looking for something? Maybe some melatonin. I’ve heard that’s good for insomnia,” Bucky suggested, getting up as if he would know where the melatonin was.
Bucky was pretty sure he could figure it out.
Sam stopped Bucky with a gesture. Bucky slowly laid back down. Bucky found himself watching Sam slowly inch closer to him.
“No. I mean – yeah, but… you’re awake,” said Sam, amazed.
Bucky smiled.
“Yeah,” said Bucky, his voice more of a whisper in the quiet night, “I’m awake. Possibly assassin programming free. Making sure I don’t have any short-term problems from being flash frozen.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t a huge fan of the Bucksicle, but, hey. I respect your choices, so…” said Sam, and his hand was dancing, fiddling closer and closer to Bucky’s; brushing Bucky’s hand, “…So, you’re free, then?”
“Not free from you. Though. Never really wanted that,” said Bucky, his smile growing as he watched Sam let out a surprised laugh, “Stay forever.”
The closer Sam was, the more Bucky noticed. Yes, the wounds Sam had when he was first broken out of the Raft were gone. But Bucky could tell Sam went back in the game without much thought about his own recovery. There was swelling and bruising around Sam’s right eye. As Bucky reached out to Sam, held Sam’s hand in his, Bucky noticed how bruised and cut those hands were.
How much time six months could be.
“You’re such a dork,” mumbled Sam as he let Bucky play with that hand.
Let Bucky graze the subtle wounds. Take all of Sam in. How pronounced those bags under Sam’s eyes were now. Let their fingers intertwine.
“Never said I wasn’t an absolute nerd. I read The Hobbit in nineteen-thirty-seven,” said Bucky, a little amused to think anyone who actually got to know him thought he was playing much of anything cool, “Lay down with me for a bit.”
Sam laughed again.
“No, not – not like,” Bucky fumbled, feeling the heat in his cheeks, “You look so tired.”
Which.
Wasn’t.
All that smooth.
“Wow, really making me feel great about myself,” snorted Sam.
But Sam's hand hadn’t pulled away from Bucky.
“Stay, Sam,” whispered Bucky, locking eyes with Sam.
Holding his gaze.
“Say that, and I’ll really do it,” murmured Sam, “Stay.”
“I keep telling you to,” Bucky pointed out.
Sam chuckled. But he didn’t argue against it. Bucky made room on the bed as Sam nestled under the covers. Sam’s body relaxed in the bed, his head resting on Bucky’s arm. He placed his own arm around Bucky’s chest.
“Are you sure this isn’t too crowded?” asked Sam, but he wasn’t moving; he seemed perfectly comfortable where he was.
“We both need rest,” yawned Bucky, his own eyelids heavy now, “Just sleep.”
So, they lay there, both dozing off.
*****
4
A party at the end of the world.
Or perhaps it was the beginning.
Sam had gone from one battle to the next, not quite letting the reality settle in yet. Maybe that was why he found himself wandering through the forest while everyone partied in the distance.
Sure, Sam should celebrate.
But there was still so much Sam didn’t know. So much to take into account.
The years that slipped away.
“Sam?”
Sam.
Might have tripped over a stick when he heard his name.
An arm.
An arm grabbed Sam. Warm. Safe. Familiar. Sam knew this man.
“Careful,” murmured Bucky, his breath tickling Sam’s neck.
“I know,” said Sam as he felt his face heating up; as he didn’t move away from Bucky, “What are you doing out in the middle of the woods?”
Bucky seemed to become conscious of how close they were. He moved away, clearing his throat as he walked in front of Sam.
Was that a blush? Or was Bucky a little tipsy? Could a super soldier get tipsy?
“I saw you walk into the woods alone, so…” Bucky started, suspiciously not making eye contact with Sam.
“So, you’re stalking me?” asked Sam as he tried to hide a smile.
Which was when Bucky’s face went crimson.
“No – I. No. Not – stalking. I’d walk into the woods for anyone,” Bucky stumbled through some sort of explanation for this.
“Oh. Anyone?” asked Sam, putting on a frown.
“Not anyone – just – I didn’t want you to be alone. With the. Bears. Weasels. Meese,” said Bucky as Sam laughed.
“Meese, eh?” giggled Sam, “The moose are out to get me?”
“You don’t know what they’re thinking. With those. Big adorable eyes. Eating grass,” said Bucky, somehow turning redder, “What, moose haven’t attacked before?”
Sam grabbed Bucky’s hand, and that seemed to stop the man from spinning excuses. Sam smiled at that.
“Don’t be weird. I’m glad you found me. It’s – the party’s a lot, but it’s nice hanging out with you,” said Sam, almost too quiet for a normal person to hear, “I like hanging out with you.”
Sam did.
He found it immensely amusing to poke at this man. Sam didn’t feel like he needed to prove anything to Bucky. They didn’t have to play a game of “I’m okay” with each other. They just were.
“What’s it like to lose years?” whispered Sam.
Because that was what scared Sam.
He hadn’t been able to reach Sarah or Gideon yet. He hadn’t been able to ask where his cat Figaro was, how the family business was doing, if any in his family disappeared during the snap too. No one who had been snapped was allowed to talk to anyone yet.
And that scared Sam.
And he knew that this wasn’t the same as losing near seventy years, but it was still lost time.
Bucky squeezed Sam’s hand.
“Sam, I… I didn’t think I would ever go back home,” Bucky admitted honestly, “When I was drafted, I knew it was the end of me. This is just more time. Time I never thought I would have. In a time much kinder than the one I came from. In a place where I, even in the worst of circumstances, met you. There’s a lot I regret. But a selfish part of me is okay with where my cards fell.”
Sam’s breath caught.
Sam glanced up into those intense eyes, now holding Sam’s dearly. A sadness in them.
“But you’re not me. You had a life to get back to. You never got to say goodbye before it happened. The time taken – it wasn’t fair,” continued Bucky, “I wish I had the answers. I’m sure they’ll let you talk to them soon. You’ll get to see them soon.”
Sam wanted to believe that.
“You should visit,” said Sam.
Bucky blinked.
“What?” asked Bucky.
“When we’re cleared to live in the States, come to Delacroix,” suggested Sam, grinning.
“Your hometown?” asked Bucky, confused, “Sam, everyone knows who I am. That could be dangerous.”
“Everyone knows who I am,” said Sam as he rolled his eyes, “Come on. The ocean. New Orleans only a drive away. Best seafood a guy can eat.”
“Oh, the best seafood? Well, now you’ve sold me,” said Bucky, but the smile on his face didn’t quite reach his voice or eyes.
Bucky didn’t seem to get that this was sincere.
Or maybe Sam was reading into it.
“Visit,” said Sam seriously, “Whenever.”
Sam hoped Bucky understood Sam wanted him to come. Maybe just. Visit. And never leave.
But Sam couldn’t say that.
That would be.
A lot.
“Let’s get back to that party,” said Bucky, dragging Sam closer and closer to the sounds of raucous heroes, “You saved the world! Dance a little.”
“Only with you,” said Sam without thinking.
Unsure of what Bucky would think of that.
But Bucky merely grinned wider as he pulled Sam close and began spinning him into the clearing where everyone else was.
*****
5
The cookout reminded Bucky of block parties. The friends, family, and neighbors; the smells of freshly made food; the mix of chaotic children running around and playing games while adults drank in the corners.
It cracked Bucky in two.
The warmth he felt from this place.
This cookout.
It was hundreds of miles from where he once called home, but this was home all the same. And it had been months since Sam took the mantle as Captain America; since Bucky found his way down to Delacroix and just never left. Bucky wasn’t sure why he was given this second chance. But he wasn’t going to waste it.
“Bucky,” asked Sam as he pointed at the table, “What is that?”
Bucky blinked.
“It’s a cake,” said Bucky, a little taken aback.
“You brought an ice cream cake to a cookout on the hottest day in July in Louisiana?” asked Sam, and Bucky could tell Sam was holding back a smile.
“Who doesn’t like ice cream?” asked Bucky, refusing to believe this was a bad choice, “Who doesn’t like cake?”
People loved cake.
People loved ice cream.
It was the best of both worlds.
It was even cookies and cream.
“True,” snorted Sam as turned those eyes to Bucky.
Those gorgeous eyes Bucky could never look away from.
“Are you really telling people you’d be my roommate? You would. But you won’t be because I’m not good at sharing anything?” asked Sam curiously as he leaned closer to Bucky, “I didn’t know I was so bad at sharing.”
Bucky.
Might have choked on his beer.
Why had Bucky told that to Sarah again? To all those women? Bucky’s search for an apartment was truly halfhearted at this point, anyway. He was happy to couch surf for as long as the Wilsons would let him. He wasn’t even thinking about whether or not he wanted a roommate. Why was Sam staring at him like that? All smiley as Bucky squirmed? Was it getting hot out here or was it just Bucky? It was over ninety degrees.
“I graciously share my best friend,” said Sam, much too dramatic for him to be serious, “I share my house. I share my community with you. Feels like someone might be projecting.”
“What if I am?” asked Bucky, as he saw something, a flicker in Sam’s eyes, “What if I don’t share well? Maybe I just want to keep you all to myself?”
And Bucky wasn’t sure where they stood. For a while, it felt as if they were building toward something; something new and risky. And for a moment, Bucky wasn’t sure if this was the point where those scales would tip; as he found himself inching closer to Sam.
“Roommates!” Sam blurted, snapping Bucky out of whatever moment they were having, “I’d be up to be your roommate. If you want to be.”
Bucky smiled.
Because it wasn’t that tipping point yet. He wasn’t even sure what that tipping point would be or what he was going to feel when it came. But he was perfectly fine with it happening another time. To stay at this point in their friendship for a while longer.
“Yeah,” said Bucky softly, “I’d love that.”
*****
+1
There he was.
Bucky Fucking Barnes.
Holding a new cat. She was a white cat, completely white, and the moment she and Bucky locked eyes with Sam, she wriggled out of Bucky’s arms. She began jumping around Figaro, messing with Sam’s older cat. Figaro, for her part, watched this new kitten with mild amusement, swatting at the kitten whenever the new cat needed the engagement.
Bucky looked from the new kitten.
To Sam.
To the new kitten.
To Sam.
Bucky looked frazzled.
Positively disheveled.
His hair was in disarray; grown out back to how long it was before the Blip; all over the place and there might be a cat toy stuck in it. His shirt definitely had some cat vomit on it, as if the new cat drank and ate too much too quickly and just threw it all up on poor Bucky. He looked exhausted in that way where he was circling back to another burst of energy.
Like this new kitten had been a ramped-up ball of energy and squiggles ever since Bucky brought the cat into their apartment. Somehow this tiny, five-pound creature had tired a super soldier out.
He was just.
Gaping at Sam.
Right.
Sam was.
Shirtless.
In short shorts.
Sam forgot about that for a second. Sue Sam, it was hot outside even when he jogged before the sun rose.
Was Bucky… distracted? Watching Sam? Usually, the man would avoid direct eye contact with Sam’s thighs and abs, but was it because this would happen? His intense eyes would wander? Take Sam in fully as if this might be the last time he would ever see Sam’s figure this bare?
All Bucky would have to do was ask.
Fuck.
Was that weird of Sam to think? What was Sam even thinking?
Right.
Cats.
Two cats.
One more than usual.
“Bucky – ?” Sam started, as if awakening Bucky from some spell.
Which was when.
Bucky.
Noticed the cat vomit.
He made a noise. A confused, embarrassed noise.
But before Bucky could do anything about it, the cats decided to be more active, running around Bucky before the kitten decided to climb up Bucky like a cat tree, her claws catching on and ripping Bucky’s shirt as she nestled herself in Bucky’s hair.
Bucky’s shirt, a thin material to begin with, did not survive the kitten’s scamper up him. It opened in the middle, the shirt sliding off Bucky and down onto the floor where Figaro sat, lazily meowing at the new kitten.
Sam.
Might have lost the thread of the conversation.
Just.
Seeing.
Shirtless.
Bucky.
Maybe it was dangerous for them both to be shirtless. Maybe no more shirtless moments. Maybe they should both be shirtless all the time.
Shirtless all the time?
That could be a good apartment rule.
No.
Weird, Sam.
Don’t be weird.
“Okay, so I might have found a cat abandoned in a box,” said Bucky, and there was an energy to him that was very reminiscent of the Pepe Silvia meme, “And I know that our landlord only allows one cat, but look at her, Alpine’s just so tiny. She needs a home too.”
Sam laughed.
Because of course that was the reaction.
Bucky Barnes, who had befriended Steve Rogers while helping him in a fight back when Steve was eighty pounds when wet, was going to see this scrawny, tiny thing and think – yes. I’m taking her home.
This dorky weirdo.
Just.
Bringing new, strange twists into Sam’s life.
“I think I love you,” blurted Sam.
It hit Sam right there.
Sam didn’t know he was going to say that.
But it was true, all the same.
It really was.
He loved Bucky.
Which was when Bucky, disaster of a man Bucky, cat still in his hair Bucky, broke down laughing too.
“You – you think?” wheezed Bucky, “You just think you do?”
“What, that’s your response?” laughed Sam, cried Sam, unable to stop his laughter, “No, ‘I love you too, Sam,’ just questioning my love now?”
“No, no. I love you too, but I’m just making sure I don’t have to double back on it,” said Bucky as Alpine jumped down from Bucky’s hair and scurried away.
“You love me?” echoed Sam.
Blinking.
Because it wasn’t as if Sam thought before he spoke. It wasn’t as if Sam had realized he wanted a response back until he said it.
And Bucky was just laughing at that.
Walking over to Sam.
Holding Sam’s face.
“Of course I do,” Bucky said softly.
And.
Then.
Kissed Sam.
Soft.
And present.
And it felt like Sam had waited for that for years.
Had Sam loved Bucky for years?
Sam wanted more. Dazed and a little out of it as he gazed into those intense eyes of Bucky’s, Sam asked as much.
“Yeah. Kiss me more?”
Which was ridiculous. That was a ridiculous reaction to a kiss, but Bucky snickered and did it all the same. Kissed Sam.
And kissed Sam.
And kissed Sam.
Until Sam lost track and let the feeling take over.
*****