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*****
Sam wouldn’t say that he was the most adept at picking locks.
Sam could hotwire a quinjet without a thought. Sam could hack security cameras from muscle memory. Sam could reconfigure the system on a drone blindfolded.
But give Sam an old-fashioned lock and he was fumbling.
It didn’t help that Sam’s wound had already reopened. Sam was pretty good at giving himself stitches, but the amount of movement he had to do to hike the forested mountain to find a seasonal cabin combined with trying to pick this damned lock had opened the wound up.
“Sam. Let me.”
Sam froze.
Sam felt him. The gentle hand on his waist. Sam closed his eyes as he let that hand guide him closer to the warm body connected to it; allowed Sam to lean on him.
“Bucky,” Sam breathed.
Like it was the last thing he ever expected to say.
Sam hadn’t even known Bucky was nearby. He hadn’t known they would cross paths at all. He hadn’t tried to know, it had been so – Sam couldn’t.
But Bucky was here now.
Bucky was gingerly taking the lock pick tools from Sam. And Bucky’s lips, well, Bucky’s lips were right next to Sam’s ear. Warm breath exhaled softly; Sam could feel Bucky’s relief.
That he had Sam in his arms.
And Sam didn’t know how he felt about that. He didn’t know what he wanted to feel about that. Not when the stakes were so high. Not when they were supposed to be in a very public fight. Not when this could compromise everything they had been working toward. His body knew to relax, though. Sam’s body practically collapsed right then and there, Bucky’s arm the only thing holding Sam up.
“I got this,” whispered Bucky as his lips brushed Sam’s ear, “I got you.”
Bucky made quick work of the lock. Sam could hear it, feel it; the shift in the inner mechanisms; the click. The door to the seasonal cabin creaked as it opened; a whining maw to safety and rest.
Sam could feel the shift in his axis, his framework of where he was – lifted.
Bucky had lifted Sam up.
Bucky was carrying Sam in his arms. Sam could feel his entire left side pressing up onto the warmth of Bucky. He could feel Bucky’s arms holding him; firm and careful. Sam couldn’t help it. His hand reached out; touched Bucky’s leatherbound chest.
“How?” asked Sam, a little hazy, “What are you even doing out here?”
“Joaquín bumped into me. Said you were somewhere on this mountain.”
So, they had been there. Sam had been right.
There were Thunderbolts that had sabotaged Sam’s mission. Did that mean Yelena had been out there too? It had to have if Bucky was here.
Bucky laid Sam down somewhere soft; a bed?
It had to be a bed. Too large for a couch. It was a little dusty and smelled like no one had used the bed in a few months, but it was comfortable and Sam felt better laying fully horizontal. Sam settled on top of the bed as he heard Bucky walking off, probably for some supplies.
“Going to bleed on the covers,” Sam croaked, “Need to take my shoes off. Can’t wear shoes on a bed.”
“Let them bill the Avengers for the covers. And we’ll deal with bed etiquette after you’re patched up.”
Echo-y.
Bucky sounded a little echo-y.
A bathroom? Probably a master bathroom. Sam could see Bucky now; scrounging through the cabinets to find the first aid kit. Sam could hear as much from the ruckus in that bathroom. Bucky must be tearing the place apart.
“Says the man who wears shoes on beds.”
Bucky laughed. Sam couldn’t help but smile at that. The cabin’s floorboards, much like its front door, had seen better days. They moaned at the mere weight of Bucky. Not that Bucky sounded like he was being particularly precious about anything else besides Sam.
“Give me your tight five after I’m done patching you up, okay, funny guy?”
Sam groaned as his body moved with the dip of the bed – Bucky sitting next to him.
“Sorry,” whispered Bucky, his hand brushing Sam’s face, “New facial hair?”
“Trying something out,” answered Sam as he opened his yes.
And.
God.
Sam forgot how intense those eyes were. Sam’s breath hitched when he locked eyes with this man. A man who he loved so much.
A man he hadn’t seen in almost a year.
“Like it?” asked Sam, a little dazed.
Bucky smiled.
“It’s gorgeous on you,” said Bucky softly, “You’re gorgeous… Hey, Samuel.”
“Hey, James.”
Bucky unceremoniously ripped Sam’s shirt off him like it was tissue paper.
“Wow. If you wanted me to strip, I would have gladly done so,” joked Sam before he hissed at the feeling of alcohol dumped onto his gaping wound.
It hadn’t been necessarily the worst wound Sam ever got in action. It was a clean cut. But it was deep enough for stitches, and long enough that bleeding was a bit of a problem.
“Should have worn the suit under this. Why hadn’t you?”
“Well, James. The suit, while beautiful, is not really built to go under clothes. I’m terrible as is at undercover missions, so having my Captain America suit poking out from my neckline wasn’t going to exactly do me any favors. Besides. It was supposed to be an easy in and out.”
Sam glanced up as he watched Bucky’s vibranium hand quickly heat up the needle Bucky must have found in some emergency sewing kit around the cabin.
“I’m sorry,” murmured Bucky, “I didn’t know you would be there too. I would have warned you all if I knew.”
Sam gritted his teeth as he felt the needle pierce his skin. Sam breathed through the pain as much as he could as Bucky gave Sam one, two… seven stitches to close up the wound. Sam focused on even breaths as Bucky rushed out of the room, coming back with water and pills.
Sam extended his hand. The pills – two tiny gel spheres – dropped into his hand. Over-the-counter pain meds, but they were better than nothing. Sam slammed them into his mouth. Bucky fell to his knees, propping Sam’s head up before bringing the glass of water to Sam’s lips. Sam took a few sips, swallowing the pills down.
Bucky placed the glass on the nightstand and Sam could tell Bucky was assessing him. Making sure the other wounds on Sam’s body didn’t need any more medical attention. And usually, Sam was a terrible patient, but he really did like Bucky taking all of his body in like this, even if it wasn’t in the sexy way.
Sam missed Bucky’s gaze on him; Bucky’s hands on him.
Even if right now, Bucky was only checking bruises and small cuts.
“I wish this looked cleaner,” said Bucky as he turned his attention to wrapping Sam’s new stitches, “Maybe you can ask Dr. Strange if he knows a good plastic surgeon, they’re pretty good at making stitching near unnoticeable.”
Bucky wasn’t sitting on a chair. He was just – on his knees. Right next to Sam. Looking at his work.
“Get over here,” mumbled Sam, his arms wide open.
“What? But the stitches.”
Bucky looked torn between want and logic. Sam cared very little about logic at the moment. He needed to see Bucky, really see him.
“I don’t – I don’t care about the damn stitches. We’ll redo them again if I need that. I want you here. With me. Next to me.”
Bucky didn’t fight Sam on this. He was careful, though; oh so careful as he found his way onto the bed with Sam. His body curled around Sam; snuggled and entangled limbs, but never putting pressure on the new stitches.
Sam and Bucky both exhaled, and it was as if they could both relax. Like a year of tense muscles had released themselves.
Sam smiled as he lightly played with Bucky’s new beard.
“New facial hair too, huh, mountain man?”
“What can I say? Not a lot of shaving supplies where I’m at. Doesn’t look as good as yours.”
Sam didn’t quite lean Bucky’s way, but he beckoned Bucky over; pulled him close enough to ask silently for what he wanted. And Sam knew Bucky would never say no to him. Bucky obliged.
The kiss was soft.
Not quite the passionate, craving kiss that Sam had thought about when he imagined seeing Bucky again.
It was longing.
And loving.
And home.
It was a home that Sam ached for; was bereft of for about thirteen months and two days. Sam sighed into that kiss. And it wasn’t sultry, nor was it chaste. But it was a promise. A hope for another kiss sometime soon.
“How much longer?” asked Sam point blank.
He had waited a year for Bucky. And it wasn’t that Sam didn’t get why Bucky had chosen to go undercover in the Thunderbolts. But Sam was tired. And he was hurt. And Sam was allowed a little vulnerability.
He was allowed to be vulnerable with Bucky.
Bucky frowned.
“Val’s dirt on Yelena is… challenging to scrub. I need a little more time. To destroy it. To convince Yelena to leave.”
“You’re going to have to go back, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been there. I’ve been trapped like that. I’m partially to blame even if I had no choice either, I helped train the Black Widows. I can’t leave Nat’s sister in the hands of someone so cruel. Not when I can help.”
It was a question Sam knew the answer to even as he asked it. Sam wasn’t sure if he would want to be with Bucky if Bucky had given up on Nat’s sister, not when they had a chance to get her out of that team. If Sam kept collecting information for a case against Val, if Bucky got through to Yelena and helped destroy whatever blackmail Val has, well – this would all be worth the lost time.
Sam owed that to Natasha, and Bucky did too.
“If I wasn’t one bad move away from popping my stitches again, I would totally have some quick and dirty sex with you in this scenic, off-season cabin.”
Bucky laughed.
“Trust me, a year without you is torture. Maybe next time.”
Sam snuggled closer to Bucky, or well, the best he could do while not being able to move much.
“How long do you have until they start asking questions?”
“Doesn’t matter. Let me just hold you, okay?”
Sam was okay with that.
“I love you,” whispered Sam.
Bucky kissed Sam again. Slow and easy. Like they had all the time in the world. Like they would have every day for years to kiss like this. Like they weren’t parting ways soon.
“There is no one I love more than you. I would move mountains to be with you. I’d climb them too.”
Sam snorted. Then groaned.
“No more being funny. You’re not allowed to be funny.”
Bucky chuckled before kissing Sam once more. Sam relaxed into that kiss. And another. Another. Sam closed his eyes, soaking in this moment. This lackadaisical make-out session. How Bucky cuddled him.
And this was going to end soon.
And, again, Sam would find himself coming home alone to their two cats.
But he would remember Bucky’s lips on his; Bucky’s legs tangled in his. He would remember the half-whispered I love yous.
And Sam would find it in himself to keep waiting for Bucky. To keep up his work on their two-pronged plan to save Yelena Belova from the grasp of the Contessa Valentina Allegra de Fontaine and her crew of criminals for hire forced to do her dirty work.
And then, they would be able to come home together again.
But for now, Sam was okay with letting Bucky kiss him for however long they had left in this cabin.