Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sam watched the members of his group session leave, holding back a sigh until the last one filed out the door. It had been a decent session, but something was heavy in Sam’s chest, a cold lump that was appearing more and more often lately. He pushed it away as he started putting away the chairs; he just needed to get a good night’s sleep, and then the stress would loosen its hold on him.

Yep, he thought ruefully as he folded up a chair and placed it along the back wall, you haven’t slept a full night in two years, but maybe tonight’s the night.

He had a couple of hours before his next meeting; enough time to grab a decent lunch for once. Usually his schedule was packed, and it would be a welcome break in a hectic week. He wanted to call Sarah; when they last spoke a few days ago she was worried about Cass getting in trouble at school and the seemingly never-ending repairs to the boat. He knew she was thinking about selling the boat, but they’d promised that would be an absolute last resort.

Someone cleared their throat behind him, and he turned, expecting to see a client or one of his co-workers, but instead he saw Steve Rogers standing there, just as blond and blue-eyed as ever. Sam immediately broke into a grin; he hadn’t seen Steve in almost six months. Not that it was unusual since Sam moved down to DC permanently and Steve worked up in New York, but typically one of them wound up in the other’s area for one reason or another.

“Hey, man.” Sam grabbed Steve’s hand as Steve returned his smile, and Steve pulled him in for a quick hug. “Been a minute.”

“That it has.” Steve stepped back and slightly off to the side, and Sam realized Steve wasn’t alone. Behind him was a face Sam recognized immediately, though he’d only seen it in the few news reports that had hit the air when Bucky had been rescued.

“Sam, this is Bucky,” Steve said, nodding between them. “Bucky, Sam.”

Bucky had been glancing around the room, taking stock of his surroundings in a way Sam knew was second nature to anyone that came out of the Marines, like Bucky had. At Steve’s words, Bucky’s gaze snapped over to Sam, and something in those deep blue eyes sent a rush of warmth through Sam’s chest. Bucky’s gaze was piercing, in a way Sam knew was designed to make him uncomfortable, and while it did make him feel off-kilter, it wasn’t in a way he disliked. It was more like he was drawn in, as though there was some kind of string pulling between them. It was unexpected, as was the way Sam’s heart skipped in his chest, giving an extra-hard thump as Sam focused on keeping his easy grin on his face.

“Hello.” He resisted the automatic urge to offer a handshake; from what he’d heard about Bucky from Steve, he didn’t like to be touched by strangers. Or at all, really.

Bucky didn’t say anything. He didn’t react at all beyond shifting in place, a lock of his dark shoulder-length hair falling in front of his eyes as he stared at Sam. He was wearing jeans and a worn t-shirt that stretched over his muscular shoulders and chest. His right arm hung by his side; he didn’t have a left arm, and the sleeve hung loose from his shoulder. He was fit, built like the soldier he was.

Sam didn’t know much about Bucky personally, only the few things Steve had told him, but he did know that Bucky was an experienced, decorated Marine that had partnered with SHIELD on a mission to infiltrate a HYDRA base in Europe a year ago. Something had gone awry along the way, and the team had barely escaped with their lives—and Bucky hadn’t escaped at all. He’d been captured and tortured by HYDRA for ten days before being rescued. Just a few weeks after Bucky’s rescue, a depressed, drunk Steve had told Sam that whoever they’d pulled out of that dank hole wasn’t his best friend, not anymore. He was terrified that HYDRA had ripped that part out of him, and Steve would never find him again.

Sam didn’t pity Bucky. He didn’t know the man, but he felt the same for him that he felt for every vet that walked through his doors—he respected him. He had no doubt Bucky had been through hell and back, and, unlike too many others, he’d come home. And he was still here a year later, though the grouchy expression on his face made Sam think he wasn’t very happy about it.

If he’s this attractive when he frowns, Sam thought, he must be beautiful when he smiles. Then he pushed those thoughts right out of his brain, because what the hell?

“It’s great to finally meet you,” he said, once it became clear Bucky wasn’t going to respond to his hello. “Heard a lot about you.”

Bucky glanced at Steve, a knowing look, and Steve just grinned at him. Bucky rolled his eyes, his mouth curling up slightly, and yep, Sam’s subconscious was right, even that hint of a smile seemed to light up the room.

“Need some help?” Bucky asked. He didn’t wait for a response, just stepped forward and grabbed a chair.

“Oh, you don’t have to—” Sam’s protests died on his lips as Bucky quickly folded up the chair with an impressive one-handed maneuver. He stepped over to the next chair, and before Sam could utter, “Thank you,” Bucky was carrying a stack of chairs under his arm, carefully depositing them along the wall,

Sam turned to Steve, who was gathering up the remaining few chairs, and Sam chuckled as they had the room cleared in about ten seconds.

“You come all the way down to DC to help me clean up?” Sam asked.

“Bucky’s moving down for a little while. Saw a new therapist and one of the prosthetic technicians here, figured I could say hi.”

Sam nodded, that made sense. The building he worked out of was new, built a year ago after Stark Industries worked out some contract with the government to apply some of their technology to the medical field, specifically prosthetics. Sam was skeptical at first, not thrilled with vets being used as guinea pigs in Stark’s experiments—but after talking to a few of the medical staff, and seeing the floor dedicated to mental health services, he’d decided to give the place a chance. And after witnessing the difference the technology was making, in some cases literally giving people back a lost limb, all on Stark’s dime—he was on board.

Plus, it was so nice to have a stable location for his group sessions, and his own office. Even if it was the size of a broom closet.

“Who did you see?” he asked Bucky, who blinked, seemingly surprised that Sam was addressing him directly.

“Jeffries,” he responded, gaze shifting around the room. “And Davies.”

“Jeffries is good.” Dr. Jeffries was a great therapist and would help Bucky through whatever adjustments, both physical and mental, may come with getting a new prosthetic. “Davies—”

“He’s an ass,” Bucky said, his voice flat, and Sam barked out a laugh. Bucky was right, Davies was a technician, and he was typically more concerned for the prosthetic than the person wearing it. But Sam got the impression Bucky could handle him.

“He wasn’t that bad,” Steve said, and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“He told me if I scratched it, I’d be in trouble. It’s my fucking arm; I’m gonna scratch the damn thing.”

Steve shrugged, though he was smiling. “It’s a valid concern.”

“Your face is a valid concern,” Bucky muttered, and Sam snickered, while Steve frowned.

“What does that even mean?” he asked.

“He’s right, Davies is an ass,” Sam said, and Bucky shot Steve a smug look. “But he knows his shit.” He looked at Bucky, not letting himself get distracted again by those clear blue eyes. “He’ll get you set up with a good prosthetic that works for you. Everyone I’ve talked to that has come through that department has been happy with what they got.”

Bucky had that piercing look set upon Sam again, but there was less of a sharp edge to it. He gave a short nod, and for some reason that tacit approval sent a warmth spreading through Sam’s chest.

“You free for lunch?” Steve asked. “I wanted to take Buck to that sandwich place on Washington.”

“Sure.” Sam was suddenly very glad he had the next two hours free. He could call Sarah after work.

~~~

“This is so good.” Steve wiped at his mouth with a napkin before picking up his sandwich and taking another bite. The bistro was full inside, so they were sitting on a small table on the patio, enjoying the beautiful spring day. Sam had thought Bucky would protest, from the frown on his face and how he hunched his shoulders as he glanced around, like he was expecting an attack at any moment. But he relaxed after a few minutes, tucking into his Italian sub with gusto.

“It’s okay,” Bucky said, the first words he’d uttered since they’d left the VA. Sam refrained from pointing out he’d nearly inhaled half of his ‘okay’ sandwich in under two minutes. “Doesn’t beat Esposito’s.”

“Our favorite sandwich place back in Brooklyn,” Steve explained, and Sam nodded.

“You ever had a po’boy?” he asked, and Bucky shook his head, eyes still on his sandwich.

“What’s that?” Steve asked.

“It’s a staple in southern Louisiana, where I’m from.” His mom would make the bread fresh, and some of his fondest memories of home smelled like fresh bread and salt water. “Fried shrimp, or roast beef on french bread. Amazing.”

“I’ve been to New Orleans,” Bucky said. He frowned, his gaze going distant, like he was searching his memory. “I had a frosted donut thing.”

“A beignet?” Sam asked, and Bucky nodded. “You like it?”

The disinterested look fell back over his face, and he took another bite of his sandwich. “Was okay,” he shrugged, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“I’ve had a beignet. I bet you ate so many of them your entire face was covered in powdered sugar.” Bucky didn’t say anything, he just shrugged again, and Sam wondered if the quiet and grumpy thing was a constant, or just special for him. Steve shook his head, making Sam think it was a regular occurrence. “How’s Sarah and the boys doing?” Steve asked.

“Boys are driving her crazy,” Sam said, “as usual.” His brow furrowed as he thought of the last phone call he had with her. “The restaurant’s doing okay, but I’m not sure how much longer the boat is gonna last.”

“Boat?” Bucky asked around a mouthful of bread. It was the first thing he’d said all afternoon without prompting.

“My family has a fishing business back home,” Sam explained. “My sister took it over after my parents died. We’d fish and sell the catch to local restaurants, even sell some dishes ourselves. The boat’s older than I am; I basically grew up on the damn thing.” He chuckled, even as a pang of longing hit him in the chest. It had been way too long since he’d been home. “It needs a lot of TLC.”

“If there’s anything I can do,” Steve said, that earnest look falling over his face, and Sam shook his head.

“It’ll be fine. She’ll get it patched up, and I’ll check it out next time I get down there.” Sam took another bite, shifting in his seat. He knew Steve meant well, but he wasn’t anyone’s charity case.

“Steve said you were in the Air Force.” Sam glanced up to see Bucky looking at him with those bright blue eyes, more interested than irritated for the first time, and damn if warmth didn’t surge through Sam’s chest again. “If you know so much about boats, why didn’t you go into the Navy?”

Sam laughed. “No way. By the time I enlisted, I was sick of being on a damn boat. What I really wanted was to be up in the air. Ever since I was a kid.” That ache hit him again, like it always did when memories popped up of his mom and her birds.

“How many tours did you do?” Bucky asked, still focused on Sam. A look of surprise flittered across Steve’s face as he glanced at Bucky, gone as soon as Sam noticed it, and Sam wondered how often Bucky actually instigated a conversation.

“Two, with the 58th Rescue Squadron. Pararescue,” Sam said. “You’re a marine?” Sam already knew the answer, but he figured it was a good jumping off point. Steve stayed quiet, appearing focused on his food, but Sam could see him watching Bucky out of the corner of his eye.

“I started in the infantry, with Steve. Eventually moved into the marines, and wound up in Force Recon.” He took a slurp of his drink, glancing away.

“Buck’s one of the best,” Steve said, pride shining in his eyes as he glanced at Bucky. “Graduated top of his class out of recruit training. Was Squadron Leader of Hercules.” Sam raised a questioning eyebrow, and Steve explained, “The specialized segment that worked with SHIELD.”

“Team Hercules to take down HYDRA?” Sam said. “Fitting.” It was impressive—Force Recon specialized in obtaining military intelligence, and after HYDRA became a bigger threat, Sam had heard of a new team created between the Marines and SHIELD to specifically target HYDRA. He’d figured Bucky was part of it, and team lead would have been a huge responsibility.

“That’s intense,” Sam said, his respect for him growing by the second. Bucky shifted in his seat, his eyes focused on the tabletop.

“It is,” he said. Then his jaw twitched, his expression hardening. “Was.”

Sam nodded; it was hard for him to deal with being back home after his tours, and he hadn’t come home injured. Not physically, at least. He shared a quick glance with Steve and tried to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“So you’re in Stark’s prosthetics program?”

Bucky nodded once, and when it became apparent he wasn’t going to say anything further, Steve explained, “He moved down here to be part of one of their pilot programs for a new technology they’re testing out.”

“I was skeptical at first,” Sam admitted, “when Stark started this whole program out here. But from what I’ve seen, he’s actually doing a lot of good now that he’s branched out from weapons and defense.” He and Riley had used Stark technology in the field, and while it was the closest Sam had ever gotten to soaring through the sky like a bird, he would much rather Stark put his brains to use helping soldiers than arming them. From Stark’s declaration several months ago about putting less money into defense, it looked like that was actually happening.

Steve gave a non-committal hum, which caught Sam’s attention more than anything, but then Bucky spoke up.

“It’s fine with me,” he said. “He can put me through a bunch of tests and poke around in my brain if I get a new arm out of the deal.”

“Poke around in your brain?” Sam asked, his guard immediately rising. What exactly was Stark researching that required that kind of shit?

Bucky glanced up at him briefly. “The arm will read my mind. Or something like that.”

“It works with his neurons in his brain,” Steve broke in. “He thinks that he wants his arm to move, and then it does. Pretty amazing stuff.”

“Yeah. Reads my mind, like I said.” Bucky finished the last of his sandwich, balling up the wrapping.

Sam made a noise of understanding, thinking back to some of the patients he’d seen leaving the prosthetic wing. Some of them, he couldn’t even tell the prosthetic wasn’t an actual limb, it was that realistic looking. He’d known Stark was making advances in the field, but he’d had no idea how far he had gone.

“That’s awesome,” he said, not sure what he could say to convey how awesome it really was.

“Yeah, as long as I don’t scratch it,” Bucky said, the unimpressed look back on his face. He settled back in his chair, eyes scanning the distance as Sam and Steve finished their meals.

“You ready?” Steve asked, wiping his fingers on a napkin.

Bucky nodded, his gaze shifting across the street. “I wanna go by that bookstore up the road.”

“Bartlett’s?” Sam asked, and Bucky looked at him for a moment before giving another short nod. Sam smiled, collecting his trash from the tabletop. “Best bookstore in the metro. Staff is pretty good about recommendations if you’re looking for something new.”

“He is,” Steve said, pushing his chair back. “He’s read basically every book in my house—”

Bucky snorted as he stood up. “You have, like, four books. Two decent ones, the Notebook, and Twilight.”

Sam laughed as Steve carried on like Bucky hadn’t even spoken. “—and the entire classics section of the library.” Steve fixed Bucky with a stern look. “And don’t knock on the Notebook. You’d like it if you gave it a chance.”

“The movie was enough, thanks.”

“You own Twilight?” Sam asked Steve as they tossed their trash, stepping towards the empty sidewalk.

“It was a gift.” Steve shrugged.

“A gift to yourself, from yourself?” Bucky teased. Steve frowned, and Sam wanted to cackle at the uncomfortable look on his face.

That hint of a smile was on Bucky’s face again, making him look years younger, and Sam couldn’t help but try to pull him out of his shell a little bit more. “Fan of older stuff?” he asked, thinking of how Steve said Bucky liked the classics.

Bucky shrugged, focusing on Sam again, and the lightness stayed on his face, instead of dropping off like it had when he’d talked during lunch. “I just know it’s good. Usually. There’s so much new stuff, hard to tell what’s worth the time. Or money. And I’m tired of watching TV. Everything on it sucks.”

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but Steve cut in first. “Except the vampire shows?” he asked with a smirk, and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“No. Those literally suck.” He laughed at his own joke, and for a moment it was like the goddamn birds started singing and the sun had come out from behind the clouds, he looked that beautiful. Sam forced himself to glance away, lest he freak Bucky out with his staring.

“My streaming history is full of episodes of True Blood and a surprising number of CW shows,” Steve said.

“Sorry if they’re not to the ‘Notebook’ level of quality you expect.” Bucky and Steve were chuckling, and it was impossible for Sam not to smile along with them.

“I have a little bit of a reading habit, too,” he said, hoping it didn’t show on his face that his heart was racing way too fast at the sight of Bucky’s smile. “Have too many books to fit in my place, really. You’re welcome to borrow some, if I have anything you haven’t read. A lot of decent stuff in the past few years I can pass along to you.”

Bucky looked at him, their eyes meeting for only a second, but it was more than enough to send that sweet rush through Sam’s chest again. It was something Sam hadn’t felt in years, not since Riley, and a pang of guilt hit him. Then Bucky cleared his throat, glancing down at the ground.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and then turning his body to look down the street.

Sam could read the cues; Bucky was ready to go. And had no interest in whatever Sam was offering, which was fine. Sam didn’t know what he was offering, anyway.

Sam reached out and shook Steve’s hand.. “Nice to see you, Steve.” He stepped back, nodding at Bucky, who was looking everywhere but at Sam. “And meet you, Bucky.”

Bucky didn’t respond, and Steve shot Sam a smile. “See you soon,” Steve said, and with a final wave, he and Bucky set off down the street. Sam headed back to his office, pushing down the pang of disappointment he had no business feeling.

~~~

A few hours later, Sam was sitting at his desk, typing up a few last emails before he headed home for the day. It was taking much longer than it should have, as now that he was out of his sessions, his mind kept wandering. Back to a pair of striking blue eyes and a sullen pout. It was ridiculous, he should not be thinking about a man who clearly had no interest in him. His gaze shifted to the picture of Riley on his desk, and a stab of guilt hit him in his gut. He shouldn’t be thinking about anyone like that—

He stopped that thought in its tracks. He knew what Sherry would say if he told her he was feeling guilty about being attracted to another man; she’d give him that sad smile and ask him how long he was expected to grieve. ‘As long as I love him,’ Sam would answer. ‘Rest of my life.’

And she’d smile again and ask him if that was really realistic, and if he would expect the same of Riley if Sam had been the one that died. And Sam would say no, of course not, he knew it wasn’t logical, but he couldn’t help it. And then Sherry would make some kind of weird plane metaphor, telling him that maybe it was time to get in the pilot’s seat and press on the gas, and he’d have to bite his tongue to explain to her again that plane’s don’t have gas pedals, and then he’d agree it was ridiculous, but he couldn’t help the fact that a little thing like dying wasn’t going to stop Sam from loving Riley just as long as he’d promised he would.

He sighed, closing his laptop and pushing his chair back. He needed to go home, have a glass of wine and a warm bath, and maybe after some sleep his brain would forget Bucky’s brilliant smile that made the sun come out for a few minutes.

There was a knock at his door, and he looked up to see Steve poking his head through the crack in the door.

“Hey,” Sam said, surprised. He hadn’t seen Steve in six months; now twice in one day. “You forget something?”

Steve stepped fully in the office, shutting the door behind him. “No. Wanted to talk for a minute.” Sam nodded, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. “Thanks for going out to lunch with me and Buck today.” Steve settled in the chair, and Sam could tell from his expression something was on his mind.

“You don’t need to thank me, man. Could always use a break. Something going on?” He raised an eyebrow at Steve, who cleared his throat.

“Bucky.” Steve glanced up at Sam, a small smile on his face. “He likes you.”

Sam snorted, even as warmth washed over his chest and over his face. And his stupid heart, literally skipping in his chest as Steve’s words. “He barely said two words to me.”

“It’s two more than he’s said to anyone else in months.”

Where was Steve going with this? Surely he wasn’t trying to play matchmaker? “Okay, well, he seems like a good guy, but not really into making new friends.”

Steve paused, glancing away, and then back to Sam. “SHIELD is sending me off on assignment.”

Ah. Sam got an idea of where this was going. “Oh yeah? Let me guess, classified?”

Steve nodded, exhaling a breath. “Yep. I’ve been able to be here, and keep tabs on Buck, but I won’t be able to for a while. At least not beyond a few phone calls.”

“And you want me to?” Steve nodded, and Sam chuckled. “Yeah, he doesn’t seem like the type to be receptive to a babysitter.” He definitely wouldn’t mind seeing Bucky again, but regardless of what Steve said, Sam was sure he was the only one who had thought about it. Well, him and Steve, apparently.

“I’m not asking for that. Just keep an eye on him?” Steve was giving him that look, those damn puppy dog blue eyes, and Sam wanted to laugh. He knew Steve was straight as an arrow, but apparently not above whipping that hangdog look when he thought it would serve him.

“He’ll be in here at least once a week on Wednesdays for therapy.” Steve paused, not looking at Sam, choosing his next words. “He’s a lot better than he was when he came back, but he’s not—”

“He’s not your Bucky, “ Sam said gently, and Steve nodded. He glanced at Riley’s picture, and then forced his gaze back to Steve. “He’s probably never gonna be that guy you remember. He’s changed now. And that’s okay.” He’d said a variation of those words hundreds of times in the past few years, to his clients and their families. He’d repeated them to himself as part of the affirmation exercises Sherry had put him through. It was a hard pill for a lot of people to swallow, but necessary.

Steve was already shaking his head. “No, I know that. And I know no one can really know what he went through over there.” He paused again, and Sam thought of how Steve had stopped to gather his thoughts more in this conversation than he had in the entire time Sam had known him. “But you—you know what it’s like,” he finally said, “in a way not many other people do.”

Now it was Sam’s turn to pause, to shift in his seat and look away, purposefully not looking at Riley’s picture. “I didn’t lose a limb.”

“No,” Steve agreed. But you know loss, was what he didn’t say. “I would just feel a lot better if he had someone here that knew him.” I don’t know him, Sam wanted to say, but he knew what Steve meant. Someone familiar, that wasn’t a therapist or a doctor or a technician.

Plus, he did want to know Bucky. Not quite like this, but Bucky wasn’t a patient of his. And Sam was sure he could use a friend. If he wanted one, that was.

“Just check in on him when you see him come through?” Steve looked hopeful now, probably because he could sense Sam was going to say yes. Which, of course he was, like he’d ever say no to a request from Steve. Especially one that consisted of, ‘Please hang out with my smokin’ hot friend?’

“Try to get him to spend some time out of his apartment? When he first came back, he wouldn’t talk to anyone, Wouldn’t go anywhere. He’s better now, but I’m afraid without me around—”

“He’ll start to backslide.” Sam was already nodding; he was more than aware of how important a solid support system was. “Sure, I’ll check in on him.” Steve broke into a grin, and Sam continued, “But if he tells me to fuck off—”

“He won’t.” Steve’s smile drooped as he considered his words. “Well,” he said, his grin reappearing, “he won’t mean it.”

Chapter Text

Steve had given Sam Bucky’s number, and told him he’d put Sam’s in Bucky’s phone, but Sam didn’t like talking on the phone to people he actually knew, let alone a grumpy guy he’d had one conversation with. He hoped to run into him at the VA, real casual like, and had made a point to casually keep his office door open and casually try to pass by Jeffries office during Bucky’s appointment time on Tuesdays, but the guy was slippery.

Which wasn’t a surprise. He was ex-Force Recon, and Sam had no doubt that losing an arm hadn’t slown him down at all.

Sam had picked out a few books he thought Bucky might enjoy, based on the very little he knew about him—a couple of Sanderson novels, Lovecraft Country, and some graphic novels and nonfiction for something different. And, after going back and forth on it, he decided to throw in the first two books from the Southern Vampire Mysteries series. Sam was skeptical that Bucky would like any romance, but he had said he enjoyed True Blood, and they were a fun series…

Sam kept the books in his office, and after two weeks of no Bucky-sightings, he just gave them to Heather, the main receptionist of the building, to pass along to Bucky after one of his sessions. It was not his best idea, especially since Heather wielded office gossip as deftly as she handled the building's schedules, but he figured it was the easiest way to pass the books to Bucky.

She’d raised an eyebrow at him, but agreed to hold them by her desk. Then he sent Bucky a quick text— ‘Left a few books for you at the front desk, if you’re still looking for something new to read.’

He didn’t get a response, which he told himself wasn’t surprising. The little flicker of disappointment in his gut was, though. And stupid, he reminded himself the next day. He wasn’t looking to date anyone, and Bucky certainly wasn’t—

A knock at his office door interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up to see Heather standing in his doorway. “Just wanted to let you know that Sergeant Barnes picked up those books you left for him. He asked when he left his session yesterday.” She smirked as she tapped one finger against the rim of her Starbucks cup.

“He kind of looked at the bag like it was going to explode,” she said. “But he took it with him.”

“Cool,” Sam said, “Thanks for passing them along.”

Heather nodded, her smirk not moving, and he suppressed a sigh because he knew what was coming. “He’s cute,” she said.

“I’m aware,” Sam said, and Heather laughed. “I do have eyes.”

“Just sayin’. When’s the last time you had a date?”

“None of your business,” Sam said, glancing up at her. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Always,” she replied. With a last grin, she turned and left, and Sam glanced at his phone. He figured he’d wait a week and then throw Bucky a text to see if he liked any of them. So he was surprised when his phone lit up the next day.

Bucky Barnes
Thanks for the books
They aren’t too bad

Sam couldn’t stop the grin that formed across his face, and the little jolt that went through him at seeing Bucky’s name on the screen. He glanced up at Riley’s picture, and then turned away from it as he texted back a response.

Oh yeah? I’m glad you like them. Which ones did you read so far?

Bucky’s response came through a few seconds later.

Bucky Barnes
All of them

Sam let out a low whistle; he’d sent over five books. The vampire books were easy reads, but Sanderson wasn’t exactly brief. And the Ruff novel was both lengthy and intense. He must have been bored if he’d gotten through all that in two days.

Bucky Barnes
Lovecraft Country was interesting

Sam frowned at the screen. In a good way? he typed.

Yeah, was the simple reply. Sam had picked that one thinking it would be something a little different. He figured if Bucky liked darker fantasy like the vampire stuff, he’d enjoy it.

They did a TV show of it, he typed. Definitely check it out if you liked the book.

Bucky’s reply was one word again, ‘Cool,’ and Sam sat back in his chair, staring at his phone and wondering what he could say next. Then he rolled his eyes, because this was exactly why he gave up on dating apps. Before he could give himself any more shit over it, little dots appeared at the bottom of the screen, letting him know that Bucky was typing again. It was ridiculous how much faster his heart was beating just because of a freakin’ text message.

Bucky Barnes
Do you have any more of the southern vampire mysteries
I looked at the library but the rest of the series was checked out

Sam barked out a laugh. He was glad he’d gone with his instinct to toss those in. I do, he sent back. I can bring them tomorrow and leave them with the front desk before your next session. You come in on Tuesdays?

Yeah, Bucky replied. Sam was tempted to ask something else, to keep the conversation going, but he remembered how Bucky had clammed up when Sam had talked to him directly. He set the phone aside; he could reach out the next day to let Bucky know he’d left the books for him. But a few seconds later his phone vibrated again, and his smile came back at Bucky’s name on the notification.

Bucky Barnes
Can I pick them up tomorrow
I can swing by your office

Sure, Sam sent back. I have a few sessions in the morning, but I’ll be around after lunch. He set his phone back down, knowing he was smiling way too wide for just a quick hand-off of books. But he couldn’t help it, there was something about Bucky that just drew him in.

Then his gaze landed back on Riley’s photograph, and a familiar cold feeling hit him in the chest: guilt. Which was ridiculous, he and Bucky were hardly acquaintances. There was no reason to feel guilty about that.

That’s not why you shouldn’t feel guilty, a voice in his head said, one that sounded exactly like Sherry. He pushed that thought away, he had a session with Sherry in a few days and he knew he’d be hearing her say it in person.

It was never going to be enough to make him believe it, though.

~~~

Of course Bucky showed up when he was mid-argument with Sarah.

It was right at the end of his day, which had turned out more hectic than planned. He’d somehow managed to go over on almost all of his sessions, including the emergency one he’d taken over lunch. Even with the new facility and the expanded staff, there just weren’t enough therapists to go around. There never would be. He was tired, hungry, and Sarah had called and almost immediately brought up selling the boat.

Sam pressed his fingers to his forehead, holding back his sigh. “No, Sarah, don’t—”

“She’s being held together by duct tape and prayers.” Sarah took Sam’s sigh out of his mouth, and he could imagine her mirroring his gesture. “It just needs to float long enough for me to sell it.”

“I thought we were gonna discuss if we were selling it.” Sam knew where she was coming from, he did, but dammit, it wasn’t just Mom and Dad’s name on that boat.

“We did,” she said sharply, and yeah, that had been the wrong thing for him to say. “And then you went straight back to DC to hold some soldier’s hand instead of your family’s.”

Guilt washed over him. She was right, the last time he’d been home they’d talked about the boat and it’s constant repairs, he’d promised to help, and then he’d turned tail and run right back to DC and buried himself in his work. Like he’d done for the past two years since he’d come back home.

“Sarah—” He wasn’t even sure what he was going to say, because an apology would never be enough, but she cut him off before he could get any further.

“I know, I know. You’re doing what you gotta do, Sam, I get it.” She sighed again, and Sam felt her frustration radiate in his bones. “And I gotta do what I gotta do for my family.”

Sam nodded, but the idea of selling the boat, of losing that last piece of his parents… it left a hole the size of the Gulf of Mexico in his heart. “We grew up on that thing. It's a part of our family.”

There was a shuffling nearby, and he jerked his head up to see a shadow over his doorway. Bucky was standing just in the hall, halfway turned like he was about to walk away, and Sam caught his eye just before he took his first step. Bucky paused and Sam’s heart jerked in his chest as he waved Bucky in. Bucky hesitated, an almost apprehensive look in his eye, and Sam waved him in again, just as Sarah started speaking into his ear.

“You know the situation we're in. I can’t afford to keep fixing it up—”

“I know,” Sam said, cutting her off. “And I’ll do what I can to help, I’ll get down there soon. Just please don’t make any decisions before I can?”

Sarah snorted. “I can’t wait a year, Sam.”

“It won’t—” He glanced at Bucky, who had stepped inside, but was looking like he was regretting that decision. “I gotta go, but—”

“It’s fine. I’ll talk to you later.” Then the line was dead, and Sam was so tired he couldn’t even paste a smile on his face as he set his phone down.

“Hey,” he said to Bucky, who had Sam’s books stacked under one arm, his eyes darting around Sam’s office like he was looking for an escape hatch. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s cool.” Bucky’s lips tightened in what Sam imagined was supposed to be an approximation of a smile, but just made him look more uncomfortable.

“Argument with the girlfriend?” Bucky asked, and Sam snorted.

“Hardly. My sister. She—” He shook his head; Bucky didn’t care about his shit. “There’s a lot going on.” Bucky nodded and set the books on the edge of Sam’s desk. “Thanks, you didn’t need to bring them back so soon.”

Bucky shrugged. “They’re yours. And I finished them. I don’t really reread books.” Then he frowned— “Except for Lord of the Rings. And the Hobbit. I read those at least once a year.”

Sam smiled, a real one forming on his face with no effort. “It’s a classic for a reason. Though the second one is kind of a slog.”

“It’s better than that Game of Thrones series the guy at the bookstore tried to push on me.” Bucky’s gaze roamed around Sam’s office as he spoke, though Sam got the vibe he was more just taking it in than looking for exit routes like usual. “The first few were decent, but I had to crawl through the fourth one.”

“So what, it took you two days to read instead of one?” Sam teased, and Bucky chuckled, a smile spreading across his face. And damn if the weight of the day didn’t seem to suddenly disappear from Sam’s shoulders.

“Three,” Bucky confirmed. “But I did read another book while reading that one. You know, to break it up a bit.”

“Of course.” Sam shook his head, reaching for the bag he had on the floor by his desk. He had the rest of the Southern Vampire Mysteries in there, along with several others from his collection. The bag was bulging, and probably heavier than he should have packed for a guy with one arm that was going to tote it home on public transit. “This should hold you for at least a week.”

Bucky’s eyes lit up, and he picked up the top book on the stack, turning it over to look at the back. He didn’t have a prosthetic on, and Sam debated for a second before asking, “They haven’t fitted you for your new prosthetic yet?”

“They did final measurements and whatever a few days ago,” Bucky said, not taking his eyes off the books, setting down the first one and reaching for another. “They’re making it out of some new material. Said I should get it in a couple of weeks.”

“Excited?”

Bucky glanced up at him, a quick look that made Sam’s gut do a tiny little flip. “Yeah,” he said, turning his attention back to the books. “If it works half as well as they promise, it’ll be pretty awesome. I’ve gotten good at getting around with one, but my Call of Duty rank is suffering.”

Sam barked out a laugh; Bucky continued to surprise him. Bucky wasn’t looking at him, but Sam could see a small grin on his face as he put the books back in the bag. Sam also saw his gaze flicker over to the picture of Riley, and then dart away.

Sam wondered how much Steve had told Bucky about him. Probably not much, if Bucky had thought he’d had a girlfriend. Sam appreciated that Steve would keep his private shit private. It wasn’t something he liked talking about.

But for the first time in a long time, Sam wanted to talk about it. To talk about Riley, about Sarah, about all the shit he never talked about except for when Sherry made him. It was so intense it felt like the words were about to burst out of him, and when he opened his mouth, he was surprised that all that came out was, “Hey, you wanna go grab some dinner?”

Bucky had been reading the dust jacket of American Gods, and he froze for a moment before his gaze cut up to meet Sam’s. His blue eyes had widened slightly, and he stared at Sam for a moment before jerking his gaze back down to the bag of books.

“Dinner?” he asked.

Sam nodded, also looking down at his desk, straightening papers that had never been straightened in their entire paper lives, probably. “Yeah,” he said casually. Because this was totally casual, no big deal at all. “I’m about done here, and I could eat. If you’re hungry.” He shrugged. Casually.

When he glanced back up, Bucky was looking at him, one corner of his mouth pulling down. It wasn’t a sour expression, exactly, but it was enough to let Sam know what his response was going to be.

“I’m—” Bucky paused, and then he easily hefted up the bag, slinging the strap on his shoulder. “I should go.” He stepped towards the door, and then paused again. “Thanks for the books,” he tossed over his shoulder. “I’ll get them back soon.”

Shit. He should’ve stuck to texting. “Take your time—” he started, but Bucky was already disappearing out the door, the nearly overflowing bag of books not slowing him down at all.

“I don’t need them back soon,” Sam said with a sigh, tossing his neatly-stacked papers on his desk.

~~~

Close to eleven, not long after Sam had crawled into bed, his phone pinged with a new text. He grabbed it, expecting it to be Sarah. He’d called her back when he got home, and she’d agreed not to sell the boat until he could get down there and take a look at it. He promised her he’d be there for the Fourth of July holiday, and he intended to make good on that promise.

It wasn’t Sarah’s name on his screen, though. One corner of his mouth pulled up when he saw who it was, and then laughed out loud at the actual message.

Bucky Barnes
Who is Sookie gonna end up with
Because if it’s a nobody like in the show I’m gonna be pissed

Sam rolled over onto his back, tucking the pillow more securely under his head as he swiped his thumb over the screen.

You really want me to tell you?

Bucky’s response was nearly instant.

No

Then a few seconds later— Maybe

Sam laughed again, typing out a response. I’ll just say you won’t be pissed. Probably.

Bucky Barnes
Cool

There was nothing else for a moment, and Sam thought about letting the conversation lie until Bucky had something else to say, but then decided fuck it; Bucky had texted him first. Maybe he just preferred texting over talking, which Sam could more than understand.

I’m surprised you didn’t ask for more of the Mistborn series, he sent, and then he waited, wondering if he’d be waiting all night. But the little dots appeared on the bottom of the screen, followed by Bucky’s responses, one after another

Bucky Barnes
The library had those
I liked it
Like Lord of the Rings
But really not
Is there a movie of it?

No, Sam texted. Not yet, anyway.

He flipped over to the web search on his phone, because he had heard a while back that a movie or maybe a TV show might be made of the series, but he’d barely typed in the search when another message came through.

Bucky Barnes
You into birds?

Sam frowned. Where had that come from? He was into birds and had a handful of books about them and falconry, but the only one he’d sent to Bucky that was even tangentially related was Bird Brother. It was a non-fiction memoir that Sam had thought Bucky might enjoy for a change of pace.

Sort of, he typed back. Then, Why?

Bucky Barnes
You gave me like four bird books
Two about falcons

Shit. Sam pushed up on one elbow and glanced at the bookshelf along one wall of his bedroom, where he kept his bird books, and yep, there was a messy stack of books that was definitely shorter than it should have been.

Well. If Bucky hadn’t thought he was weird before, he sure would now. Only thing he could do now was to own it.

I actually only meant to give you Bird Brother, he typed, it’s a really good memoir. The others I must have grabbed by accident. But yeah, my mom kept birds at home growing up. She had a bird room in the house, and taught me how to care for them. He hit send, exhaling a sigh as he let the phone drop to the mattress next to him.

His phone buzzed a second later.

Bucky Barnes
A bird room
An entire room for birds
Were they loud?

Sam smiled; the first couple of birds had started in a cage in the living room, until his dad had converted the shed outside into a room for them because they wouldn’t shut up. Mom had taken that as permission to get more birds, you know, to fill the space, and soon there was an entire flock flittering around back there. Sam had learned to fall asleep to the distant sound of their chirps and cries throughout the night, so much so that sometimes he put on white noise of bird calls to fall asleep sometimes.

So fucking loud, he texted. And messy. But fun.

Any falcons?

No. Not really good as pets, haha. Sam thought of Millenium and Redwing, the two falcons that lived at a nearby animal sanctuary. He tried to get out there at least once a month; seeing them helped clear his head in a way not much else did. He hadn’t been in about six weeks though.

Poplar Springs has a couple that I go visit sometimes, he sent to Bucky. He replied immediately.

What’s that?

An animal sanctuary.

Cool

Nothing for a minute, and Sam was about to set his phone down when another text came through.

Bucky Barnes
My mom had a cat
Named snowflake
Pissed on my socks

Sam barked out a laugh, his fingers swiping through a response without thinking. I bet that improved the smell.

A little laughing emoji appeared on his text, and then Bucky sent, Fuck off. Sam laughed, and wrote back, We had a couple of cats. One that liked to go out on the boat with us. We named him Tuna.

The little dots appeared again, indicating that Bucky was writing back, and Sam relaxed against the mattress, grinning at his phone.

Chapter Text

Sam clasped his hands loosely in his lap, stilling his bouncing knee yet again. Sherry leveled him with her familiar patient stare, and he tried to exhale away the unease permeating his body.

“What does it mean if Sarah sells your parents boat?” she asked.

“It doesn’t mean anything.” He shifted in his seat; it didn’t, not really. It would suck, but if that’s how things went. Nothing he could do about it.

“Then why are you so upset about it?”

“I’m not—” Sam cut himself off, huffing out a breath, because yeah, not even he believed that one. “I don’t know.” He frowned, glancing out the window and then back at Sherry. “Because it’s a part of me,” he finally said. “A part of our family.”

Sherry nodded, pausing for a few seconds before saying, “So if she sells the boat, she’s selling a family member?”

“Yes.” The answer came automatically, and more exasperated than he intended. Sam sagged back against the chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hated days like this in therapy, when Sherry found that one spot he’d tried to bury away and forced him to shovel the dirt off.

“No,” he said, letting his hand fall to the arm of the chair. “She’s doing the smart thing for her business. What she has to do.” Fixing what I couldn’t.

Sherry’s open expression didn’t betray anything, but she made a note on the notepad in her lap. “If she sells the boat, what does it mean about you?”

Sam glanced down at the floor. “That I’ve failed her.”

Another pause. He didn’t look at Sherry, but he knew her mouth had turned down into a slight frown. Then, “How are you failing her?”

“She asked for help.” Sam looked up at her, letting the guilt roar through him instead of pushing it down. His throat got tight, and he cleared it, clasping his hands together in his lap again. “Asked me to go down there and try to help her fix it. And I’m still here.” He shrugged, because that was the long and short of it. Her words from a few days ago echoed in his mind—You went straight back to DC to hold some soldier’s hand instead of your family’s.

“Why do you think that is? That you’re still here?” Sherry leaned forward slightly, her form open and relaxed, and Sam bit back a chuckle; she had the therapist body language down pat. “Why didn’t you go when she first asked?”

“I didn’t think it was that bad, with the boat.” He really hadn’t, but he honestly had been so caught up in Riley’s death that he hadn’t put much thought into it. And once he went back to work, leaving seemed impossible. “And I have responsibilities here. To my patients.”

Sherry watched him for a second, then she said, “To Riley.”

Sam’s hands tightened in his lap. “This has nothing to do with Riley.”

“Have you left the state for any reason besides work in the past year?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with—”

“Have you taken any time off at all? Or visited Riley’s grave?” Sherry’s voice was as gentle as always, but Sam held back a flinch as though she yelled at him.

Then he exhaled a sigh as his body sagged back into the chair. “You know I haven’t,” he replied quietly, guilt washing over him again. He’d visited often those first few months, but then he’d just… stopped.

“Why do you think that is?” She was watching him, her expression neutral, but Sam could see the warmth and concern in her eyes.

“Because there’s too many damn soldiers that need help and not enough people to help them.” He sat up straighter. “I can’t take time off to—”

“To take care of yourself?” Sherry raised an eyebrow at him. “Isn’t that what you would tell a patient in your spot to do? Put the oxygen mask on yourself before helping another?”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “Now you’re playing dirty. And you’re right,” he said with a sigh. “I know you’re right. It’s just—” He paused, stopping his knee, which had started jumping again.

“It’s hard,” she said gently. “But you know better than most Sam, that the longer you refuse to address this grief and guilt you carry with you, the more explosive they’ll be when they finally come out. And they will come out.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. I know. And I’ll—I’ll think about it.” He would. He wouldn’t even have to schedule the PTO, his office would be closed the week of the Fourth anyway. He just had to book the ticket to fly down to Louisiana. “I’ll make a plan.”

Sherry nodded, glancing down at the notepad in her lap. “How was the rest of your week? Anything else on your mind?”

Usually this was where Sam would say there was nothing else, or maybe talk about some of his job stress. But at Sherry’s words, a mental image of Bucky smiling sprang to Sam’s mind, as well as thoughts of the numerous text messages that had passed between them the past few nights. Bucky might not talk much in person, but he was damn near verbose in texts, and not to mention memes. He favored animal memes the most, and Sam was starting to get used to opening his texts to find an image of Grumpy Cat frowning at him.

“Oh.” Sam looked up to see Sherry tilting her head at him. “There is something else on your mind.” Her voice was curious, and she raised an eyebrow as Sam steeled himself for her reaction to his next words.

“I might have met someone.”

Sherry was good. The only reaction he saw was her eyes widening for a second, and one corner of her mouth pulling up before she schooled her face back into her normal neutralness. “Oh?” she said again.

Sam snorted. “Don’t even act like you’re not ready to stand up and start doing the wave.”

Sherry allowed herself one small smile. “Tell me about them.”

Sam exhaled a breath. Here we go. “He’s Steve’s friend. A vet. Amputee. In therapy, but not my patient. Not much of a talker, but he likes to read.” He shifted in his seat, feeling the weight of his dark, silent phone in his pocket. “And text.”

Sherry nodded, making a note on her notepad. Sam figured she was drawing little hearts and fireworks. “And you like him?” she asked, her expression and voice carefully neutral.

Yes, Sam didn’t say. He shrugged, looking down at his hands. “I don’t really know him very well.”

“Not what I asked.” Sherry was leveling him with that look that said she wasn’t going to let him dodge the question.

“Yeah, I like him.” It felt oddly good to say the words, like his heart floated a little lighter in his chest. “What I know of him, anyway.” He thought of Bucky’s admission that Northanger Abbey was his favorite Jane Austen novel, and he couldn’t stop the small smile from forming on his face.

But then Riley’s face popped up in his mind, and he felt the smile fade off his face. “But it doesn’t matter.”

He could feel Sherry’s frown before he saw it. “Why not?” she asked.

“Because it’s not gonna go anywhere. He’s not interested, not like that—” Bucky may like to text him, but the guy was just lonely for a friend, and Sam had no idea if he even liked guys, “—and I’m—” He paused, swallowing down his next words.

“You’re what?” Sherry prodded.

Sam forced himself to meet her gaze, because he knew he had to talk about this. What was more, for the first time, he actually kind of wanted to talk about this. “I’m not ready for that.”

“For what? A date? A kiss?” Guilt washed over Sam, and he glanced away. “What would being ‘ready’ feel like?”

Not like this. Not like guilt and coldness. What was worse was that when he was texting Bucky, or the few times he’d seen him, he hadn’t thought of Riley once. And after, when Bucky had left or the phone was silent, Sam would remember, and the guilt would hit him all at once.

“I would just know.”

Sherry paused, and after Sam had looked up and caught her gaze again, she asked, “Is this what Riley would want for you?” No, Sam thought. Riley would be pissed that Sam was doing this, mourning him like some long lost love. But that’s what he was, for Sam. What he always would be.

“Would he want you to live out your life on standby, when you could be happy in the cockpit?”

Sam let out a dry chuckle, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Riley doesn’t get to want anything,” he said. “He died.”

“He did,” Sherry agreed. “But you didn’t.”

~~~

Sam slept even worse than usual that night, tossing and turning as his brain refused to do anything but think about his session with Sherry. Bucky had texted him, but Sam had kept the conversation short, his brain moving in too many different directions to focus on Bucky like he wanted to.

And he wanted to. He could see that now, he was not only physically attracted to Bucky, he genuinely liked him. He looked forward to talking to him, he thought about him way more often than he should, and when he did get to see him, he always left feeling better than before.

The whole idea of it made Sam all mixed up. Not only because of the guilt he felt over Riley, but because he hadn’t felt this out of his element in a long time. He hadn’t dated in a couple of years, and he wasn’t even 100% sure Bucky thought about him like that.

Though from the few times he’d caught Bucky looking at him, that heated stare tracing over Sam’s face and body before he glanced away, Sam was like, 95% sure Bucky at least found him attractive. Though that didn’t mean Bucky wanted to actually do anything about it.

Sometime around 4AM, Sam realized he could deal with at least one worry on his mind—he’d gotten up and booked a plane ticket to Louisiana. Usually he liked to drive down, even if it took a couple of days, but he wanted to do something to make that plan real. And he’d fallen asleep immediately after.

He dragged himself into the office four hours later, downing two cups of coffee before his first session of the day. His next session canceled, and he was scrubbing a hand down his face as he walked towards the kitchen for yet another cup of coffee when he stopped in his tracks next to the large floor-to-ceiling windows of the large conference room by the lobby.

It was full of dogs. A mixture of labs and golden retrievers mainly, along with a corral of puppies in one corner. It looked like most of the building staff was in the room as well, along with a handful of patients he recognized. He caught familiar movement out of the corner of his eye, and he turned to look through the windows of the conference room across the hall. His heart stuttered in his chest when he caught sight of Bucky sitting on the floor, looking the most content that Sam had ever seen him.

He was in his typical jeans and henley shirt, but his hair was pulled back instead of falling around his face. There was a white cat in his lap and a tabby one rubbing its face against his outstretched hand. He was petting the white cat with his other hand, a big smile on his face. He was absolutely beaming, his grin growing even wider as a third cat, a black one, walked up to him and nearly pushed the tabby out of the way for more pets.

His other hand. Bucky had gotten his prosthetic, Sam realized with a jolt. His gaze moved from Bucky’s beautiful face down to his new arm, which was made from a shiny gray material. It was clearly metal, but it moved with just as much naturalness and fluidity as his other arm did. Sam was wondering why Bucky’s arm didn’t look more natural, or at least skin-tone like so many other prosthetics he’d seen when a loud voice startled him.

“Therapy dog day!” Heather said excitedly, and Sam jerked, turning to see her smiling at him.

“It’s my favorite day.” She had her ever-present Starbucks cup in her hand, and she turned towards the conference room Bucky was in, a smirk forming on her face.

“I see you’ve found something cuter than the dogs to look at.”

“Don’t you start,” Sam said. “And it’s therapy animal day. Not just dogs.” Heather kept a picture of her dog at the front desk, a red heeler mix named Espen that Sam had heard more about than her husband.

He turned back to the window and saw that Bucky was looking at him. A small thrill went through Sam when they made eye contact, and Bucky gave him a quick nod. Then he reached up with his metal hand and gave a small wave, laughing when the cat he’d been petting nearly jumped up to follow his hand as he pulled it away. Sam smiled, that warmth he’d associated with Bucky washing through his chest.

“Well,” Heather said, and god he could hear her smirking, “why don’t you go check out the not-dogs? Let Sergeant Barnes show off his new prosthetic.”

Sam turned to snark back at her, but she was already walking away, into the conference room with the dogs and beelining right to the puppy cage in the back. Sam turned back to see Bucky scratching under the chin of the white cat in his lap, looking down at the cat with near adoration in his eyes.

Sam wondered what it would feel like to have those blue eyes shining at him like that, and then he quickly pushed that thought away as he stepped into the kitty conference room, quickly shutting the door behind him before any cats could escape.

“Hey, man.” Sam grinned down at Bucky, who leaned back against the wall as he continued petting the white cat in his lap. “Found a friend?”

“A few.” Bucky glanced up at him, then quickly looked back down to the cats. Sam sat down next to him, laughing when the black cat immediately walked over to him, nudging at Sam’s fingers for pets.

“That’s Onyx,” Bucky said, nodding at the black cat. “The tabby is Pixie, and this—” he looked down at the white cat again, and wow, she was purring so loudly— “is Alpine.”

“Looks like she picked you,” Sam said, then he chuckled as Onyx suddenly climbed in his lap. “They sure are friendly.”

“Yeah, they said they bring the most social cats to these things.”

“Makes sense.” Sam scratched under Onyx’s chin as Bucky kept petting Alpine with his prosthetic hand. Sam noticed how he kept pausing in his pets to flex his hand, and then would bury his palm in her fur.

“How’s the prosthetic?”

“Different.” Bucky frowned down at his hand as he turned it over so his knuckles caressed over Alpine’s spine. Suddenly Sam could think of nothing more than what that touch would feel like against his skin, and he yanked his gaze back to Bucky’s face. Which did nothing to stop the heat simmering in his gut, because Bucky’s face was the most attractive thing about him.

“It’s good,” Bucky continued, “to have my balanced weight back. It’s stronger than my other arm. And more sensitive?” He frowned at the prosthetic hand again as he stroked Alpine’s back. “Her fur feels softer with this hand.”

“Really?” Sam watched as Bucky’s fingers slid through the cat’s fur, and he was struck by the urge to reach over and slot Bucky’s fingers between his own, to see if his metal palm was cool to the touch.

“Yeah, they made it out of some new metal.” Bucky glanced at Sam, a relaxed expression on his face. “Viber-something?”

“Vibranium.” Wow. Back in the paratrooper unit, that was what Sam and Riley’s wings had been made of. It was one of the strongest, most light-weight metals on Earth, and at the time, just a couple of short years ago, one of the most expensive. It was nothing short of amazing that Stark was using it in prosthetics.

Though Sam made a mental note to do some research and make sure there were no strings attached - like turning Bucky into some kind of Stark super soldier against his will.

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded, his focus returning back to the cat in his lap. “I have to come in twice a week so they can run tests on it, and how it’s working with my brain and how my body is adjusting to it.” He chuckled wryly. “Kind of makes me feel like a lab rat.”

Sam nodded, moving ‘Check on Starks’ Super Soldier Agenda’ higher up on his list. “How do you feel about that?”

“Fine.” Bucky shrugged. He glanced up at Sam, an unfamiliar look of vulnerability in his eyes. “Good to be useful again, in some way.”

Sam frowned, still absently petting Onyx, who seemed to be engaged in some kind of contest with Alpine to see who could purr the loudest. “You are useful, Buck. More than you know.”

Sam expected Bucky to glance away, but instead Bucky kept his gaze on Sam. That connection between them lit up, bright and bold, and for a second, Bucky’s gaze dropped down to Sam’s lips. Everything else seemed to disappear, Sam’s worldview narrowing down to him and Bucky, and the warmth stretching between them.

“You know,” a voice said from above them, and Bucky glanced up, his lips pursed in irritation, “Alpine here is up for adoption.”

“Really?” Sam asked, looking up to see one of the rescue volunteers smiling down at them. He grinned at Bucky. “How about that?”

Bucky’s smile was gone, replaced by his usual glower. “I can’t have a cat,” he said, still petting Alpine, who was curled up into a ball in his lap.

“Why not?” The more Sam thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Bucky clearly liked animals, and that cat, and he was sure Bucky could use the company. “You got your own place. Looks like she likes you.”

“She does!” The volunteer said. She pushed her glasses up on her nose; her name tag identified her as Megan. “Alpine is pretty friendly, but she doesn’t usually nap on strangers. We have a discount on adoption fees for military veterans. If you’re interested.” She kept the friendly smile on her face, and Sam was impressed how it didn’t wither at all under Bucky’s glare.

Bucky sighed, turning his frown on Sam. “That one likes you.” He gestured at Onyx, who was sitting content in Sam’s lap, though he wasn’t sleeping. “Why don’t you adopt him?”

“I’m hardly ever home.” It was true, typically home was just a place to sleep in between working. “He’d get lonely.”

“Then get two,” Bucky deadpanned.

“A great idea!” Megan said enthusiastically, and Sam and Bucky both chuckled. She opened her mouth, probably to tell them she’d throw in two cats for the price of one or something, when there was a loud hiss from across the room. “I’ll be right back,” she said, hurrying to where another volunteer was trying to placate a big gray cat.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Sam said, trying to keep it casual, knowing that if he tried to push Bucky into something, Bucky would push right back just on principle. “Getting a cat. Or any pet.”

Bucky didn’t say anything for a moment, and Sam just let the silence sit. Then he said, “I guess if you got a cat they would eat your birds.”

Sam laughed. “Man, I don’t have any birds.”

“No special room for them?” Bucky was smiling again, and Sam would take all the teasing in the world to keep seeing that grin.

“No, not in an apartment.” He paused, and then, “There are a couple of birds I like to visit though, at Poplar Springs.”

“The animal sanctuary?” Bucky wasn’t looking at him, still focused on Alpine, who, at this point, appeared to be so sound asleep he was dead to the world.

“Yeah. They have more than birds, lots of big cats and horses.” Onyx stood up in Sam’s lap and stretched, and then, without a backwards glance, he turned and trotted off to the water bowls across the room. Sam watched him go, and then, the words were out of his mouth before he realized he was going to say them, ”We could go see them sometime. If you wanted to. I haven’t visited in a while.” His heart started racing, which was dumb because it wasn’t like he’d asked Bucky out. He’d just suggested they go look at some animals sometime. Bucky was probably gonna say no anyway.

“Sure,” Bucky said, and Sam jerked his gaze over to Bucky. “Sounds like fun.”

“Cool,” Sam said, letting the smile form on his face. “Maybe Saturday?”

“Sounds good.” Bucky met Sam’s gaze and gave him a small smile. Sam was sure he would have sat there, grinning dumbly at Bucky for way too long, if Heather hadn’t gotten his attention.

“Sam!” He turned to see Heather in the doorway. “Your 10AM is here.”

“Shit.” Sam pushed up to his feet, pausing before he walked away. “I’ll text you?”

Bucky nodded. “Yep.”

Sam nodded, committing the image of a completely relaxed, smiling Bucky to memory, and then walked away.

~~~

The rest of the day flew by—it was mid-afternoon before Sam had another moment to himself. He was heading to the cafeteria to grab a late lunch when he saw Megan, the rescue volunteer, heading towards the front door. A quick glance at the dark conference rooms told him the animal event must be over, and before he thought better of it, he waved her down.

“Hey, I don’t know if you remember, that cat from earlier today, the white one? That sat in my friend's lap?” She nodded.

“Alpine? Of course I remember. I’m really glad your friend decided to adopt him.”

“Oh! He did?” Megan nodded. “That’s great.” He’d been planning on asking for the cat’s adoption info, just in case, but Bucky had already beat him to the punch.

“Yep!” Megan smiled. “Onyx is still available! He really seemed to like you.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks!” With a final smile, they parted ways, and Sam pulled out his phone as he headed back towards the cafeteria.

I heard you brought home a new family member, he sent to Bucky. By the time he had his lunch and was back in his office, Bucky had responded—with a picture of Alpine, curled up on his chest. Bucky’s chin was in the picture as well, and Sam could just barely tell he was smiling.

I’m really glad you adopted her, Sam typed. Looks like she’s settling in. You gonna start making memes with her?

Nah, Bucky replied. She’s too cute for memes. Then, Unless she pisses on my socks. Then all bets are off.

Sam chuckled, sending back a laughing emoji. Then he typed, Cool if we go to Poplar in the morning on Saturday? If we’re there by 10, we can see them feed the falcons. I can pick you up around 9. Then he waited, telling himself to not be too disappointed if Bucky changed his mind.

Sure, Bucky replied, and Sam exhaled. There was a nervous excitement in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a really, really long time. It was scary, but thrilling all at once.

Calm down, he told himself. You’re just hanging out. It’s not a date. His phone pinged again, and glanced down to see another text from Bucky.

We can get lunch after if you want, he’d sent. Sam was about to respond when another text came in—Unless you need some alone time with your birds. I don’t want to intrude.

Haha, Sam replied. Lunch sounds great. He shook his head, setting the phone down as he dug into his lunch. Saturday couldn’t come fast enough.

Chapter Text

“It’s just up here.” Sam pointed up the walkway, and Bucky nodded, turning around for a last look at the white tiger that was in her pen, rolling around on the grass in the early morning sun. “Unless you wanna spend your entire day with Leia.”

“Not a bad idea,” Bucky said with a half-smile, one that had already sent Sam’s heart thumping against his chest a dozen times that morning. “But I don’t want to keep you from your birds.”

Sam rolled his eyes, though he knew the grin on his face took all the irritation out of it. Traffic had been light and they’d arrived earlier than Sam had planned. He’d figured they could take their time walking to the bird house, or the Nest as Sam had heard the employees refer to it. But not far from the entrance were the pens for the big cats, and they had watched Leia the white tiger toss around a blue barrel for nearly a half an hour. Or rather, Bucky had watched Leia, and Sam had tried to not watch Bucky too hard. He just kept smiling, and Sam’s gaze was drawn to him like a magnet.

It also didn’t hurt that Bucky looked incredible. His plain jeans and dark, long-sleeved henley fit him in the perfect way to show off his athletic frame. He was wearing a sleek black glove over his prosthetic hand, but not one on his other hand, and it didn’t look weird or awkward—somehow he made it look cool.

But more than what he was wearing, he just seemed more… content. Comfortable. Way less like the hunched over, anxious guy that had gone to lunch with him and Steve, and way more like the relaxed, joking guy that had three cats crawling all over him. It was a good look on him, this combination of comfort and sexiness that lit Sam up in all the right spots.

The Nest was in the north section of the park, a large open area that backed up to a wooden barn. They had falconry shows just outside the barn, where they would let the birds spread their wings for the crowd. Those shows were usually pretty well attended, at least the ones Sam had gone to, but it was so early in the day that Sam and Bucky were alone as they approached the Nest.

Sam grinned as he stopped next to the wooden fence that separated the spectators from the animals. Redwing and Millenium were out on their perches, dark eyes blinking quickly as Penny, one of the employees at Poplar, walked around near the open barn door. The sun shone down on them, and Redwing’s feathers seemed to shift between deep red and golden brown as he moved along his perch. They watched in silence for a few moments, and a tingle down Sam’s neck caused him to glance over at Bucky, surprised to find Bucky watching him instead of the birds.

“They’re beautiful,” Bucky said, his voice full of warmth. The way Bucky was looking at him made Sam think he wasn’t only talking about the birds. Bucky jerked his chin back towards the birds. “The feathers on that one keep changing color in the light.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, knowing the flush in his body wasn’t from the heat of the sun. “That’s Redwing. And the gray one is Millenium.”

“Millennium?”

“Yeah, like the Millenium Falcon.” Bucky turned and gave Sam a quizzical look. “From Star Wars?” Bucky shrugged, and Sam’s mouth dropped open. “You have seen Star Wars?”

“I’ve seen some of the books, but never read any. Darth Vader?”

“How have you not—” Sam stopped himself, shaking his head. “Well I know what we’re doing next weekend.” One corner of Bucky’s mouth ticked up, and Sam forced himself to focus on the birds and not how much he enjoyed making Bucky smile.

“Anyway, they got Millenium when she hurt her elbow. And Redwing, they’re not sure what caused his injuries, but his wing was badly broken when he came in. They fixed it best they could. Neither one of them can fly long distances anymore, so they live here.”

Bucky nodded. “What’s on their ankles?” Both birds had loose leather bands around each talon, jostling lightly with their movements.

“They’re leather anklets,” Sam explained. “When they train them, they put jesses on them - this strap between them, and use that and a leash to train them to not fly away.”

Bucky turned back to him. “You just said they can’t fly away.”

“Long distances. They can still try to fly out of here if they get spooked. Just won’t get very far.”

Bucky smirked, glancing down at his gloved hand. “Sounds familiar.” Before Sam could respond, Bucky asked, “Your mom didn’t have any birds like these?”

“Nah,” he responded, then paused as a few memories popped up in his mind. “Falcons aren’t the type of bird you’d try to domesticate. We did find and help injured birds we came across while on the boat, but we’d always release them once they were healed.” Bucky nodded, his eyes still on the two falcons. “Don’t want to keep a bird caged if there’s no reason to,” Sam continued.

“Your family’s fishing boat?” Bucky glanced at him, and though Bucky’s body was still turned towards the birds, Sam had the feeling he had Bucky’s full attention.

“Yeah. The ‘Paul & Darlene.’” Bucky raised an eyebrow, and Sam explained, “Named after my parents. They started the business, the restaurant. Boat came to my sister and me when they passed.” Sam watched as Millenium shook out his wings. “Now just my sister, really.”

“You miss it?”

Sam took a beat before answering. His initial reaction had been to say no, he was more than content to spend the rest of his life on the ground, but if he was honest with himself, he missed being on the water. The smell of the gulf, the sound of the waves at night. “Yeah. Not enough to go back, but… yeah.” He remembered how during that lunch with Steve, the first question Bucky had directed at Sam had been around his boat. “You like boats?”

“Maybe?” Bucky shrugged. “I like the water. I’ve only ever been on a boat for work, so… Not really much time to enjoy the view.”

Sam hummed. With Bucky’s training, Sam had no doubt he’d spent more than a few turns on a boat, but a military vessel on a mission was a far cry from a fishing trawler on the gulf. It was dirty and noisy during the day, but at night, sometimes Sam would lay out on the deck and stare up at the stars, letting the motion of the waves rock him to sleep. Maybe he and Bucky could rent a boat, take it out on the Potomac one day, or hell, overnight. It was a great time of year for it—

“Look,” Bucky said, and Sam’s attention snapped over to him. “I think he sees you—holy shit.”

Redwing let out a loud high-pitched squawk, and Sam looked over to see him bobbing back and forth on his perch, his head moving and tilting as he let out more shrill screeches, each one louder than the prior. Penny looked to see what caught Redwing’s attention, and smiled when he saw Sam.

“Hey Sam!” Penny called out, waving them closer. Sam walked along the fence, Bucky following, until they were next to the gate. The hawks watched them, their calls subsiding as their attention turned to the bag Penny was holding, which Sam knew held food.

“Someone’s happy to see you.” Penny nodded at Redwing, who was hopping along his perch, his attention swinging between the food and Sam.

“I’m happy to see him.” Sam really was; usually he was out here at least every couple of weeks, but the past few months had been busy. “He looks great.”

“He’s doing awesome.” Penny reached inside the bag with his gloved hand out, pulling out a hunk of raw meat. Redwing didn’t let out a sound, but his eyes were laser-focused on the food, watching as Penny slid it up Redwing’s leash and perch. He stopped when the food was set against the perch, between Redwing’s talons, the perfect place for Redwing to slip his head down and rip off a hunk.

“Haven’t seen you in a minute.” Penny glanced over at Sam, his eyes moving quickly over Bucky before putting his full attention back on Redwing. Millennium squawked, wings fluttering.

“Settle,” Penny said. “You’ll have your turn in a second.”

“Work’s been busy,” Sam said. He nodded towards Bucky, who was watching silently, his normal sullen expression firmly in place. “This is Bucky. Penny is one of the bird keepers,” he told Bucky, who kept his focus on the birds as Penny smiled at him.

“How’s it going?” Penny asked.

“Fine.” Bucky’s voice was flat, but now that Sam knew him better, he could see the interest in his eyes. The therapist in him started turning that over in his brain, that immediate wall Bucky put up with anyone new—and he immediately stopped that thought process in his tracks. He wasn’t a therapist today.

Millennium let out another squawk, and Penny chuckled. “Do you two wanna come in? It’s feeding time. It’s just me, so can use the help.”

Sam had been in the back barn with the birds a time or two, with Penny and other keepers. He enjoyed it, but he knew that wasn’t what Bucky signed up for. “You cool with that?” he asked Bucky.

“Yeah.” Bucky’s eyes shone a little brighter, and Sam grinned at him as he unlatched the gate, holding it open for Bucky as he stepped inside the paddock.

~~~

“So, what do you think? Enjoyed it?” Sam asked an hour later as they sat down at a picnic table. After the sanctuary, Sam had driven them over to a little market district on the riverside. They’d grabbed lunch at a bistro, and had decided to eat it at the park across the street, on the banks of the Potomac. It was just starting to get busy with tourists and families enjoying the beautiful day, but was quiet and had a gorgeous view.

In more ways than one, Sam thought, watching as Bucky’s blue eyes scanned over the horizon. “It was awesome,” Bucky said, just before he took a big bite of his sandwich.

Sam smiled. “Awesome,” he repeated. “That’s a big compliment coming from you.”

Bucky shrugged. “It was fun. I’ve never gotten that close to big birds like that before.”

Sam hummed in response around his mouthful of food; it had been more of an eventful outing than he’d expected. Penny had let them feed all the animals in the paddock, from the falcons to the turkeys and goats. They’d spent most of their time with the falcons though, with Bucky even getting the experience of Redwing landing on his outstretched arm. Sam saw some of Bucky’s nerves break through for the first time, his eyes widening slightly when Redwing had landed and promptly turned right to him, squawking loudly in his face for the promised treat. HIs nerves had turned back into a grin though, as Redwing had eaten his snack while perched on Bucky’s arm.

“They’re beautiful,” Sam said, “and powerful.”

“That’s for sure.” Bucky turned on the bench, setting down his sandwich and rotating his right arm, the one Redwing had landed on. A grimace crossed his face as he slowly worked the muscle on his bicep.

Sam frowned. “You okay?” Redwing tended to land with some force, and while Redwing hadn’t landed on Bucky’s vibranium arm, (“Can’t scratch it up,” he’d told Sam wryly), Sam probably should have thought about that before encouraging the guy with the brand new prosthetic to let a bird of prey perch on him.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Bucky turned back to Sam, pulling the glove off his prosthetic hand. “Just sore. Still getting used to the prosthetic. It’s weird.” He flexed his hand, making a fist and then slowly rotating it at the wrist, frowning at it the entire time. “It feels like an arm and I use it like an arm but my body doesn’t—” He exhaled a breath, shaking his head.

“Hasn’t quite caught on yet?” Bucky nodded, picking up his sandwich. “It will,” Sam promised. He wasn’t sure how long the adjustment period would be with the material Bucky was working with, but he had no doubt it wouldn’t be long before Bucky had gotten used to it. “In the meantime, you could see the massage therapist. They’d help out with those sore muscles.”

Bucky frowned, shifting in his seat. “Not a fan of massages,” he mumbled around a bite of food.

“Okay,” Sam replied, remembering how Steve had said that Bucky didn’t like to be touched. Sure would have been a good thing to remember before he went and told him to get a massage. They ate in silence for a moment before Sam said, hoping to change the vibe, said, “Visiting those birds—reminds me of home. And of my mom. Good memories.”

Bucky nodded, his expression becoming more relaxed. “Steve is that for me. Reminds me of Brooklyn, of home. I miss it.” He wasn’t looking at Sam as he talked, his eyes scanning the horizon. “It’s nice here, pretty—” He nodded towards the lake, the clear blue sky, “—beautiful, really. But it’s too quiet.”

Sam nodded. He knew exactly what Bucky meant. “Hard to sleep in the silence.”

“After training myself to sleep through assholes shouting in the alley or my squadron talking in my ear all night, it’s too… still.” He shrugged. “I’m getting used to it.” One corner of his mouth pulled up into a half-smile as he met Sam’s gaze. “Alpine helps with that. She sleeps on top of my head, purrs as loud as a freight train. Just like my mom’s cat did sometimes. Reminds me of better times.” He glanced away again, the hint of a smile fading.

“Not all the good times are behind you,” Sam said, wishing he could wash away Bucky’s pain. “Still a lot to come.”

Bucky surprised him with a chuckle. “That is definitely what my therapist says.” He shrugged, adopting an air of nonchalance that Sam knew was a front. “Just hard to think about that, with how the past year has gone.”

“Yeah.” Sam paused, not sure if he should comment further, not wanting to spook Bucky when he was starting to open up, but Bucky had brought it up, so he let his words flow. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

Again, Bucky surprised him with a shrug. “I’m not.” Sam blinked at him, and Bucky continued, “I mean, yeah it was horrible. I was starved and tortured and had my arm chopped off.” Bucky looked at his prosthetic hand, flexing it. “First time in my life I wished I would die. That I felt truly alone. But I was glad I was alone.” He glanced back at Sam, taking another bite of his sandwich.

Sam rolled Bucky’s words around in his head. “How’s that?”

“Because it meant my team got out.” Bucky’s words were matter of fact, seemingly obvious. And maybe they were, but an image of Riley falling through the air, flashed through Sam’s brain. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but from how Bucky’s expression changed, Sam knew he hadn’t been successful.

“Shit.” Bucky was grimacing, as one of his hands jerked in Sam’s direction, as though to touch him, before quickly withdrawing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”

Sam was already shaking his head. “It’s okay.” Thoughts of Riley would always be close by, and while the memory was still painful, it wasn’t nearly the gut punch it would’ve been a year ago. Hell, even a few months ago.

“Buck, trust me.” Sam reached over and squeezed Bucky’s forearm, just once before pulling back while he gave Bucky a reassuring smile. “It’s fine. I get it. I would have done anything if it would have saved Riley’s life.” The words didn’t come with that same intense pang of regret that he usually felt when he thought about that day. It was still there, but dulled somehow. Instead of a gush of water washing over his body, it was a small wave pushing at his knees. Still there, but not nearly as powerful.

Bucky nodded, eating the last bite of his sandwich as he looked off over the lake again. Sam figured he was going to let it drop when Bucky asked, “He was in your unit?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. He was my partner. In the unit, and—” He hesitated, not sure why, it wasn’t like it was a secret, “and—personally. Not that we advertised it.” Bucky nodded, the understanding in his eyes clearer than Sam had expected.

“We were on a night mission,” Sam continued, the words coming out before he could stop them. “Nothing we hadn't done a thousand times before. Until an RPG knocked Riley's dumb ass out of the sky.” Talking about it now felt different. Instead of pain welling up inside him, there was relief and comfort, washing the pain away. “Nothing I could do. It's like I was up there just to watch.”

There was a movement against his hand, a warmth, and Sam knew without looking that Bucky had slid his hand over and brushed his fingers against Sam’s. It was brief, gone before Sam could blink, but the comfort that radiated from that touch would have left Sam sleeping soundly for a week.

“Tell me about him.” Bucky hadn’t moved his hand far, resting it on the table next to Sam’s, and Sam had to staunch the urge to reach over and slot his fingers between Bucky’s.

“Riley?” Sam asked, and Bucky nodded. “Man, he was…” Sam couldn’t stop his smile as he thought of the first time they met. Riley had seemed standoffish and curt almost to the point of being rude, but Sam later realized it was his reaction to their instant chemistry.

“He was something. Smart as a whip, and a complete dumb-ass at the same time,” Sam chuckled. “I didn’t like him much at first. Thought he was an asshole. But I came around.” Bucky’s gaze was steady on Sam, absorbing every word, and Sam glanced up at the clear blue sky. “He loved to be in the air even more than I did.”

“How long were you together?”

“Two years.” Sam focused back on Bucky, taking the opportunity to ask questions that had been on his mind for weeks now. “How about you? Leave anyone behind when you enlisted?”

Bucky snorted. “No. I dated, before.” Bucky gestured with his prosthetic arm, Sam nodded. “A lot,” Bucky added wryly. “But never anything serious. Not because I didn’t want it, I just never found anyone that I wanted it with. Didn’t think I ever would.” Bucky held Sam’s gaze for a beat, causing Sam’s heart to thump extra hard, and then glanced away. “Steve gave me a lot of shit for it.”

“Rogers?” Sam forced himself to focus on the conversation, and not on analyzing all the signals he felt positive Bucky was sending him. He’s probably just being casual. Casually friendly. Doesn’t mean anything. “Can’t picture him giving anyone shit.”

Bucky barked out a laugh. “Then you do not know the real Steve Rogers.” He shot Sam that easy grin again, the one Sam couldn’t help but return. “He can be a real stubborn asshole when he wants to be.”

“I feel like he’d say the same thing about you.”

“He has. Many times.” Bucky chuckled, glancing down at his vibranium hand. “That was actually something that kind of kept me going.” His gaze flicked up to Sam’s face, then away. His expression was open, but Sam could see a nervousness in his gaze. “When I was a prisoner.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam kept his tone relaxed, even though he was celebrating inside at how much Bucky was sharing with him. “Steve being an asshole?”

“No,” Bucky chuckled. “Me being a stubborn asshole.” Bucky shifted in his seat, turning his body away from the view to completely face Sam, his hands on the table between them. “When HYDRA had me,” he said, his voice low, gaze on the tabletop, “they kept me in this dark hole. Every time the door opened, I knew they were coming in to beat the shit out of me. Again.” He glanced away, at a family sitting a few tables over enjoying their own lunch. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Bucky’s pinky twitch. He slid his hand closer, so his palm was an inch away from Bucky’s.

“In between the beatings,” Bucky said, “I had a lot of time to think. About what I’d done with my life, what I hadn’t done. Turns out I don’t have a lot of regrets.” He gave a shaky laugh, clearing his throat, clasping his hands together.

“Not many people can say that,” Sam said softly. He glanced down at the table; he was glad Bucky’s prosthetic was made of vibranium, with how tightly he was clasping his hands together. Sam wanted to comfort him, to reach over and hold one of Bucky’s hands between his own. But he kept still, giving Bucky the space and time he needed to talk. Sam wanted to hear every word.

“I still had—still have—more I want to do. And they weren’t gonna take away the chance for me to do it.” He cleared his throat, focusing back on Sam, that haunted look back in his eyes. “So every time they came in, I fought back. After they took the arm, fighting back got a lot harder. But I kept doing it. Because I’m a stubborn asshole. I wasn’t going to go out like that.”

Sam couldn’t help himself; he reached over and gently brushed his fingers over Bucky’s knuckles, just as Buck had done earlier to him. “And you didn’t,” he said gently. Bucky exhaled, the tension flowing out of his shoulders as his clasped hands relaxed. Sam withdrew his touch, not wanting to make Bucky uncomfortable, resting his hand on the table next to Bucky’s.

“Physically, I didn’t. But I know I’m—” Bucky paused, his gaze darting between Sam and anywhere else, “I’m not me. Like I was.” He finally unclenched his hands, running one through his hair as he exhaled a frustrated breath. “Sometimes the way Steve looks at me, or the guys I’ve talked to in my unit since I came back—I can tell they’re thinking about it.” Bucky looked at Sam, his hand coming to rest on the table just a hair’s breadth away from Sam’s.

The expression in Bucky’s eyes, the sadness and loneliness that Sam hadn’t seen at all that day, was too much, and Sam was moving before he realized he was going to do it. He slid his palm over Bucky’s hand, and Bucky immediately turned his hand so their palms pressed together. Warmth surged through Sam’s body, emanating from where they touched. It reminded Sam of the familiar golden heat he felt when he had his wings on, flying through the sky beneath the sun.

“You’re right,” Sam said. “You’re not the same person. And your friends and family—they think about it. And that’s okay.” He swiped his thumb over Bucky’s wrist and felt Bucky’s pulse, hummingbird fast against his fingertip.

“Combat changes you,” he continued, “it changes all of us, in so many ways. You’re not the same guy who went over there, just like I’m not the same guy that strapped on that pack and went into the air with Riley for the last time.” He paused, swallowing over the lump in his throat. He knew that, he’d always known that, but for the first time, he felt like he truly understood it.

“But you are still Bucky. And I’m still Sam. Just a little bit worn around the edges.” Something caught in his chest with those words, a soft hitch that felt right somehow. A gentle warmth spread through his core, and he gave Bucky a small smile. Bucky returned it with an uptick of the corner of his mouth and a soft squeeze of Sam’s hand.

“And I know, 100%, that Steve is so grateful to have you back. And maybe I didn’t know you before,” he paused, knowing he was basically about to lay it all out there, but he just couldn’t keep it inside anymore, not with Bucky’s hand in his and the quiet chirping of the birds in the nearby trees, “but I am so grateful that I know you now. Because worn-around-the-edges Bucky is pretty incredible.”

Bucky smiled, a real, big smile, one that shone brighter than the sun ever could. Sam felt that pull again, that connection that only existed when Bucky was around. It was strong and intense and it took everything within Sam to not lean across the table and scandalize all the nearby children by kissing Bucky senseless in front of them.

“So are you,” Bucky said, squeezing Sam’s hand again. He looked at Sam for another beat, then dropped his gaze to Sam’s lips. Sam was seconds away from saying fuck it and leaning in, but then loud voices caught his attention. Sam turned to see a few teenagers sitting down at the table closest to theirs and Bucky cleared his throat, sliding his hand out of Sam’s.

“Man, my therapist is gonna be so happy,” Bucky said, balling up the paper bag his sandwich had been in. “He’s been on me to talk about this shit for months.”

Sam chuckled, caught between the happiness inside him that Bucky trusted him enough to open up to him, to touch him, and the urge to glare at the group that had interrupted their moment. It’s for the best, he thought as they gathered their trash and walked back to Sam’s truck. He wasn’t ready for whatever might have happened.

Sherry’s voice suddenly echoed in Sam’s brain. Don’t live your life on standby! And his own words followed right after—You’re not the same person. And that’s okay.

The drive back to Bucky’s apartment was quiet. Sam was lost in his own thoughts, though he was very aware of Bucky beside him. He swore he could feel Bucky’s gaze on him a few times, but when he glanced over at Bucky, he was always looking out the window, seemingly content in the silence. Still, a quiet tension simmered in the cab of his truck, and when Sam pulled up in front of Bucky’s place, he wasn’t sure what to expect when he turned to Bucky.

Bucky was frowning, rubbing his shoulder again. Without thought, Sam reached over, and Bucky dropped his hand as Sam squeezed Bucky’s shoulder, rubbing hard with a circular motion. Bucky’s eyes fell shut, a little puff of air escaping his lips as Sam pressed his palm against the sore muscle.

“That’s okay?” Sam asked, his voice low. “I know you’re not big on being touched; I should have asked.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky said quickly, his eyes opening. “It’s okay if it’s you.”

Sam nodded almost dumbly, as Bucky’s eyes were piercing, heated, and Sam was sure he could see straight through into Sam’s soul. Then Bucky was leaning forward, and Sam’s hand moved to the back of Bucky’s neck, resting there as their lips brushed.

It was a tentative kiss, and then it wasn’t, as Bucky tilted his head and slanted their mouths together. Sam leaned into it, his fingers sliding into Bucky’s hair as Bucky let out a soft noise. It was Sam’s first kiss in years, and he thought he must have forgotten how good it felt to be this close to someone. He was lost in it, in the warmth surging through his veins, the smell of Bucky in his nostrils and the softness of his hair against his fingertips. Bucky had one hand on Sam’s forearm, sliding up to squeeze his bicep, and as Sam slipped his tongue into Bucky’s mouth, he cursed the divider that prevented them from sliding closer.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, in the front cab of his truck with engine running, kissing each other, but when Bucky finally pulled more than an inch away, his hair was thoroughly tousled and Sam’s breath was coming faster. Bucky kept his hands on Sam, one resting on his arm and the other resting on his waist, his thumb underneath the hem of Sam’s shirt to rest on his bare skin.

“Wow,” Sam whispered, knowing he sounded like a smitten idiot and not caring one bit.

Bucky chuckled, ducking his head before meeting Sam’s gaze. His blue eyes were so clear and bright; between them and his grin, Sam felt like they lit up the entire street. “I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks now.”

Sam couldn’t stop the smile on his face if he’d tried. “Me too.” He leaned in for another kiss, which Bucky eagerly returned.

“I figured,” Bucky mumbled against his mouth, “I needed Redwing’s approval first.”

Sam choked on his laughter, breaking their kiss but still keeping a hand on Bucky as he leaned against his seat. “Not a chance she wouldn’t like you.” His hand was resting on the side of Bucky’s neck, and Bucky leaned into the touch as he grabbed Sam’s free hand, slotting their fingers together.

“Thank you,” Bucky said, “For today. For taking me there.”

“I’d love to take you back. Show you a few more places.” Sam thought of his idea to take Bucky out on the Potomac, and then had a mental image of Bucky on his family’s boat, back home in Louisiana.

Whoa, he thought, you need to slow your roll.

“I’d like that,” Bucky said. He leaned in again, and all thoughts left Sam’s mind as he lost himself in the taste of Bucky’s lips.

Chapter Text

The Fourth of July

Sam watched as Bucky used all his weight to screw the pump back into place, his vibranium arm trembling with exertion. Sam was behind him, and had completely given up any pretense of helping and was openly staring. July in southern Louisiana was hot and humid, especially in the closed engine room, and Bucky had taken his sweat-soaked shirt off. The view of Bucky’s muscles moving in his back, sweat dripping down his neck—Sam’s entire train of thought had derailed and crashed. When Bucky pulled away and tossed the wrench onto a nearby bench, Sam stepped closer, sliding his palm up the bare skin of Bucky’s back to his shoulder, squeezing lightly. Bucky leaned into the touch like he always did, a little puff of air escaping his lips as he looked over the newly-installed water pump.

“Well,” Sam said, looking at the very tight bolts set in the base plate as his thumb swiped over the back of Bucky’s neck, “that won’t be moving anytime soon.”

Bucky wiped sweat off his forehead. “That’s the point, right?” He turned his head towards Sam, his mouth just a few inches away. He leaned back a little more, so his back was in the barest contact with Sam’s chest, his gaze flickering down to Sam’s mouth.

“It is,” Sam said, trying to convince himself that he’d never live it down if he got caught with his pants down, wrapped around Bucky in the engine room of his parent’s boat in the middle of the day. “I just may need a crane to take it out if I have to repair it when you’re not around.”

Bucky gave him that sexy smirk, the one he’d fast learned was Sam’s favorite. “Guess you’ll just have to keep me around then.”

Sarah and the boys and half the town are right outside on the docks, Sam reminded himself. But his traitorous body leaned forward an inch. “Guess so.”

Bucky closed the distance, kissing him, turning his body so he could wrap an arm around Sam’s waist. Fuck it, Sam thought, letting out a little noise close to a whimper; he had no idea how, but even after doing this for nearly two months now, every kiss and touch still felt as good as that first one had. That same warmth surged through him, setting him on fire from the inside out.

They’d been working nearly non-stop the past two days to get the boat back up to par, hoping to get it done by the end of the Fourth, so they could relax and enjoy the festivities with Sam’s family. But now that they were basically done, all Sam could think about was getting Bucky back to their room and losing himself in his touch.

Bucky seemed to be on the same page, from how eagerly he returned Sam’s kiss. His hands were on Sam’s waist, sliding up to touch his skin, the cool touch from his vibranium hand sending ripples over Sam’s body. Bucky had adapted beautifully to the prosthetic, all muscle soreness and worries disappearing as time passed.

Sam slid one hand down to Bucky’s ass, squeezing and pulling him closer when a throat clearing made his blood freeze.

“Hey, now.” Sarah’s voice was amused. “This is my engine room, not your bunk.” Sam stiffened while Bucky’s shoulder shook with silent laughter.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Bucky said, pulling away from Sam, who wished he could sink through the floor. He grabbed his shirt from the nearby bench, but made no move to put it on as he shot Sarah an easy grin.

“What did I tell you,” Sarah said, her expression going flat. “Ma’am is for old granny’s and aunties, not for me.” Sam snickered in spite of himself. Bucky was not going to win her over with a nice chest and pretty smile. Even if it had worked on him.

Sam cleared his throat as he stepped back, gesturing towards the engine and newly-installed water pump. “Got it fixed up. Engine should stop overheating now. Just need to prime the pump and then test it out.”

Sarah hummed in response, looking over the engine. The approval in her eyes lifted Sam’s heart, and he caught Bucky’s eye, shooting him a smile.

“Looks good.” Sarah said. “Foods coming out soon, if y’all wanna get cleaned up.”

As if on cue, Bucky’s stomach rumbled. “I could eat,” he said, finally pulling on his shirt. Sam wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

“We can finish up tomorrow.” He reached out, wrapping his fingers around Bucky’s forearm and giving a gentle squeeze. “Go on ahead, I’ll follow you in a few.”

Bucky gave him that half-smile, slipping his arm up until he could grasp Sam’s fingers, squeezing them in return. He stepped away, turning to Sarah.

“Ma’am,” he said with a smirk. Sarah puffed out a breath and rolled her eyes, and Bucky ducked out of the engine room and into the sunshine.

Sarah turned to Sam, one eyebrow raising.

Sam shook his head, moving to pick up the tools scattered on the floor. “Don’t even say it.” He would never live this one down. Totally worth it, though.

“What? I caught you necking with your boyfriend in the boat like you’re in high school and I’m supposed to just let it pass me by?”

Sam bit back his immediate protest, because the grin on his face would have taken all the heat out of it. Boyfriend. He’d never thought he’d hear that word again applied to him, but here he was.

“I like him,” Sarah said as Sam set the tools back on the counter. “He’s good for you.”

A brightness filled Sam’s chest; he could tell Sarah liked Bucky from the moment they’d stepped through her door. It was hard not to like him; Bucky was charismatic as fuck when he wanted to be. He was all Yes, ma’am and No, ma’am, helping Sarah with groceries and fixing creaky doors around the house, all with an easy grin and Alpine sitting around his shoulders.

The past few days had gone better than Sam could have ever dreamed. Bucky told him he normally spent the Fourth celebrating Steve’s birthday, but since Steve was still off on assignment, he didn’t have any plans. Sam had nervously stumbled through an invite for Bucky to come back home with him, afraid he was pushing things too fast, but Bucky had immediately accepted. Sam took a few more days off work, refunded his plane ticket, and he, Bucky, and Alpine made the drive down in Sam’s truck.

Being with Bucky was just easy. Comfortable in a way that reminded Sam of Riley, but still entirely new and different. They never ran out of things to talk about, from books to birds to Bucky’s very questionable taste in television (Sam now knew way too much about the Vampire Diaries and Gossip Girl). The only nerves Sam had about Bucky coming to Louisiana with him was asking him to go; he’d had zero worries about having a good time once they got there. He and Bucky always seemed to have fun, no matter what they did.

“Yeah?” He was grinning like an idiot, he could feel it, but he didn’t care.

“I haven’t seen you smile like that in a long time.” Sarah nodded towards the water pump. “Plus, he does a way better job on the boat than you do.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open in mock outrage. “You take that back.”

Sarah chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Riley would’ve liked him.”

That soft pang hit Sam; he knew it would never go away. But it didn’t hurt, didn’t sear anywhere close to how it used to.

“You think?” he asked Sarah. He’d never entertained that thought.

“I know. They’d insult each other all day, and then share a pack of Heineken.” When she focused back on Sam, her eyes had turned slightly wistful. “You know he would want you to be happy.”

“I know.” Sam had said that so many times, to himself, to Sherry, but was only just starting to really let himself realize it was the truth. “I know.” He sighed, leaning back against the engine room wall. Through the open door, he could see Bucky just off the docks, talking to Mr. Prudhomme, one of the cooks at a local restaurant Sarah sold to. Sam had no idea what they were talking about, but from the hand gestures, it was either the best way to filet a fish or sight a sniper rifle.

“A couple of weeks after we started this thing,” Sam said, “after I dropped off Buck at home one night, I realized I hadn’t thought about Riley in hours.” He turned towards Sarah, who still had that sad smile on her face.

“Felt guilty?” she asked.

“No. I felt okay. Then I felt guilty for feeling okay.” He chuckled, even as he felt that cold touch of grief against his heart.

Sarah stepped closer, reaching out to squeeze his forearm. “It’s hard,” she said. “Moving on. Putting guilt on yourself you don’t deserve.”

Sam nodded. “There is guilt I do deserve, though. I’m sorry. For not being here when you needed me.” He’d said that a lot to Sarah over the past few months, and while he knew no words would ever be enough for leaving her dealing with it all on her own, he’d keep saying it. And he wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Sarah still had that softness in her eyes, the kind that he hadn’t seen since Riley’s funeral. “Thank you. You’re here now.” She stepped forward, enveloping him in a tight hug. “Better keep coming back around. The kids miss you. And you talked me into keeping this thing.” She stepped away, looking around the engine room. They had replaced more than the water pump; the nets and traps had been completely replaced, they’d made several repairs to the hull and rigging, and they’d given most of the rooms a new paint job. With regular maintenance, the ‘Paul & Darlene’ would have several more years on the water.

“I’ll be back,” Sam promised. “A lot more.”

Sarah gave him another smile, then that softness faded into an amusement he was much more familiar with. “Bring your boy toy with you,” she said as she stepped onto the deck. “You know, for when I need more repairs.”

Sam scoffed as he followed her. “I can handle the repairs!”

~~~

Sam laid tucked behind Bucky on the bed, his arm slung over Bucky’s waist. Bucky’s bare back pressed against Sam’s chest, Bucky’s fingers wrapped loosely around Sam’s wrist. Alpine was curled up just above Bucky’s head, taking up half his pillow, sleeping soundly.

It was after midnight, the breeze coming off the gulf stifling the typical summer heat. Sam’s eyes were closed, but he was awake, listening to the cicadas and birds outside, and the sound of Bucky’s even breath next to him.

Sam thought Bucky had fallen asleep, so it surprised him when Bucky said quietly, “I like it here.”

“Yeah?” Sam swiped his thumb through the thin hair on Bucky’s chest, wondering if Bucky could feel the warmth that radiated through Sam’s core at Bucky’s words. “Not too muggy or loud?” The cicadas were loud, their high-pitched buzzing cutting through the air.

“Breeze off the gulf is nice,” Bucky said. “I like the noise. Makes it feel alive.” He paused, considering his words. “The people are friendly. So many helped on the boat.”

That was true; a small army had turned out to help Sam and Bucky with the repairs. Sam would be forever grateful; it would have taken him weeks to get it done on his own.

He pressed a kiss to Bucky’s bare shoulder. “They like Sarah, and the kids,” he said, “liked my parents.”

“They like you,” Bucky said, his voice laced with affection. A low rumble started above their heads; Alpine hadn’t moved, but she’d started purring loudly as though she agreed with Bucky’s statement. Sam chuckled; damn cat was trying to get on his good side after taking up pillow space.

“Nah. You stole the spotlight; everyone was asking me about you.”

Bucky turned his head slightly so he could catch Sam’s eye, enough so Sam could see the small smile on his lips. “Yeah?”

“Trust me, I was shocked too,” Sam said teasingly. Bucky snorted, lightly jabbing his elbow back to poke Sam in the stomach.

“You’re a hit,” Sam said earnestly. “I knew you would be.”

Bucky was silent, though he moved his hand to slot his fingers between Sam’s, holding Sam’s palm against his chest. Sam could feel the comforting thump-thump-thump of Bucky’s heart against his hand.

“I talked to Steve earlier,” Bucky said. “Told him Happy Birthday from you.”

“Thanks.” He remembered the phone call from Steve, a couple of months ago, after Bucky had told Steve they were dating.

“You know,” Steve had said wryly, “when I asked you to keep an eye on him, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

Sam had chuckled, though without being able to look Steve in the eye, he had no idea how serious he was. “Is it going to be a problem?” he’d asked, not sure what he’d actually say if Steve said yes.

Luckily, he didn't need to worry. “No, of course not,” Steve had immediately responded. “You’re a great guy, Sam. I’m kind of ecstatic for both of you, to be honest.”

Steve had been down to visit once since then, and had told Sam in private more than once how different Bucky seemed. How he seemed much lighter than the past year, so much more open.

“How’s his birthday going?” Sam asked. He knew Bucky usually spent Steve’s birthday with him, though he didn’t seem too upset at missing this year.

“Good.” Bucky paused again, his body tensing almost imperceptibly; Sam wouldn’t have even noticed it if he wasn’t pressed up against the full length of him. Sam had barely enough time to wonder why, when Bucky said, completely casually, “I told him I wasn’t sure when I’d be back in New York.” Another pause, then, “Like, living there again.”

Sam pressed another kiss onto Bucky’s shoulder blade. He’d wondered how long Bucky was planning on staying in DC; he’d figured maybe six months to a year, depending on how his therapies went. Which, Sam knew, were going amazingly. He didn’t want to push things too fast, for either of them, by asking what Bucky’s plans were—and then possibly asking him to alter them to stay in the same city as Sam. He wasn’t even sure how much he wanted with Bucky yet, but judging from how that warmth in his chest was sparkling now, filling his limbs with happiness, he wanted anything Bucky would give him.

“Yeah?” He could hear the sappiness in his voice, but he didn’t give one single shit.

“Yeah. I’m kind of liking DC.” Bucky shifted slightly, squeezing Sam’s hand again. Bucky’s heart gave an extra hard thump against Sam’s palm. “Loving it, really.”

God. Just a few short months and Sam was so far gone, head over heels for this man. He could feel that connection between them again, so strong and bright, pulsing to the beat of their hearts.

“Not too quiet?” he asked.

“No,” Bucky said, then, “Well, maybe. I could get a bird.” He turned his head towards Sam again. “I hear they’re good for noise.”

Sam laughed, his shoulder shaking, and Alpine picked up her head and let out a soft mew at the disruption. Her tail flicked out, flopping over Bucky’s face. Sam and Bucky both chortled, Sam moving back a few inches, giving Bucky enough room to shift onto his back. He let go of Sam’s hand, reaching up to bat her tail away and give her a few pets.

“Alpine would eat your bird,” Sam said, his palm resting on Bucky’s stomach.

“I’d have to get a separate room for it,” Bucky said, his eyes light.

“An entire room for birds?” Sam said. “I like it.”

“I thought you might.” Bucky moved his hand from Alpine’s fur to Sam’s neck, gently nudging him down for a kiss.