Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Holy shit." Steve stared at the ticket in his hand then back at the numbers on the screen. He blinked. Blinked again. "Holy. Shit."

He was pretty sure he'd just won the lottery. Not the multi-millions that got people on the news, talking about the yachts and the mansions and the racehorses they were going to buy. The same multi-millions that usually saw those same people on the news years later, on a Where Are They Now feature, broke, destitute, penniless, probably having eaten the horse. 

He was well aware his mind was rabbiting around in circles, but he thought it could be forgiven.

He didn't want a yacht. He didn't want a mansion. He didn't want a racehorse. For a start, it wouldn't fit in his apartment. Sure, it was two bedrooms, but the second bedroom was hardly racehorse size and how would he get it in the elevator...Okay, Steve, could you focus for five damn seconds?

He set the ticket down, grabbed his phone, pulled up the lottery results website, tapped in his numbers and, yes. There it was. He'd won the lottery.

No yachts, no mansions, no horses.

But he was pretty sure it was enough to get a BodyGuard.

"All right, Mr Rogers, you can put your shirt back on."

Steve was shivering in the cool of the doctor's office. It wasn't like he had a lot of meat on his bones: he was skinny, his ribs and shoulders and collar bones sticking out, so he was happy to pull his t-shirt over his head, shrug his sweater over the top, shoving his sleeves up over his elbows.

Doctor Marjason was flipping through his file. "I can see why you want to take advantage of our service." He looked up. "You understand what's involved?"

Steve nodded. "Yes. You soul bond me to one of your BodyGuards and I stop being sick all the time."

Doctor Marjason's smile was nice. Kind. Steve liked him. He wasn't condescending, didn't treat Steve like there was something wrong with him, which was impressive when he had Steve's file in his hands, clearly indicating that there were actually about a million things wrong with him. "It's a little more complicated than that, but essentially, yes. Your specific health issues make you a perfect candidate, so you pass that hurdle. Your psychological testing came back clean." Doctor Marjason gave him a pointed look. "Better than clean, actually. You'll have access to our full roster to choose from, one of the few potential clients we've offered that to."

"Uh, thanks?" He seemed to be waiting for something else, so Steve said, "That sounds good?"

Doctor Marjason's smile got wider. "It's good." He pulled a stool up and sat down. "So, what do you want to ask me?"

"If I find someone, if I pick someone," and who was he kidding, he was going to pick someone, he'd never thought this would actually be possible, "what's actually going to happen? I've read a bit about it on the internet, but I know better than to think that's even close to right."

"Very wise, Mr Rogers. Well, the magician will establish a low level soul bond between you and your BodyGuard and show your body how to draw on the bond for strength and health, so that all this," he tapped Steve's file, "won't affect you anymore. You won't suddenly be sprinting a one minute mile or bench pressing motorcycles." Steve snorted a laugh and was rewarded with a quick grin. "But your heart troubles, your lung troubles, your aches, your pains, all of it, they won't be trouble anymore. It's, well it's magic and I'm a doctor not a magician, but the bond will allow your body to mirror your BodyGuard's, using their health and their strength where yours is lacking, or something is missing or flawed. "

Steve frowned suddenly. "It's not, my problems won't go back to them will they? Because I'm not going to do it if it's going to hurt someone else."

Doctor Marjason's smile was warm as he said, "And that's why you've got access to the full roster. Only three other people have ever asked me that."

"That doesn't actually answer my question."

"No, Mr Rogers. The bond doesn't work like that. Your BodyGuard isn't going to be harmed by the bond. We only select people who are naturally healthy and fit, people with strength to spare." His voice dropped and he leaned in conspiratorially. "They may be called BodyGuards, it sells well, rolls off the tongue for the ads, but I always thought it was misleading. They aren't expected to get hurt for you and there's nothing in the soul bond that means they will."

Steve breathed a sigh of relief. He still had some reservation about this, but that was one he could cross off the list. He'd be damned if he'd help himself at the cost of someone else's pain. "Good. And nothing else can get through? Nothing I'm feeling or anything like that?"

Doctor Marjason shook his head. "It's inevitable that you're going to feel a level of familiarity with your BodyGuard that's unusual for someone you haven't known very long, but apart from that it's a low level bond, so no. If you select someone and they agree to take you on, the psychologist will go through this with both of you in excruciating detail."

Steve nodded thoughtfully, then pressed his hands together. "Okay. Let's do it."

"I'll let them know you're ready to start looking at candidates," Doctor Marjason said, reaching for the phone.

Steve had been looking through detailed files for several hours. He'd eliminated a few people right off, had managed to narrow it down to two possibilities: a man and a woman. He was weighing them up: they both appealed to him, he thought he could get along with both of them, but since he was going to be living with whoever he chose, he was leaning more heavily towards the man.

This was why a long term BodyGuard was so expensive. Not just because you were paying someone (or in this case paying Shield), to bind themselves to your soul. But because you were paying them to bind themselves to your life. Every cent Steve had won was going on this. It was probably crazy, probably stupid, but this had been his mom's dream for him. When he was little, and she'd lie in bed with him when he was sick, when his asthma had been so bad he could hardly breathe, when he had fevers or was in and out of the hospital, when he couldn’t do anything but lie in bed, they'd imagine what it would be like have someone to take it all away and make him better.

Magic had returned to the world and it hadn't taken long for humans to adapt to it, strip it of its wonder, and turn it into simply another tool to use. They'd quickly realised it couldn't heal the sick or the injured, but someone had soon worked out you could use it to bond two people together and do the next best thing.

It didn't work for everyone, for every type of sickness or injury. You couldn't use it to help someone terminal or with a degenerative condition. But someone whose condition was stable? Someone who was desperately sick but would get better? Someone who'd been terribly injured but was healing? Those people could be soul bonded to someone else and their body would mirror the person they were bonded to, act like it had been healed, maybe not all the way, but the bond would make things better. Would lessen the pain, would give them strength. Only certain people could provide the bond, people who were naturally over-the-top healthy, who'd been born brimming with strength and energy to spare, who were overflowing with it and could afford to pour the excess into someone else.

There were a number of companies offering the service. Shield was the best, the most reputable, had been in operation the longest. Rumour had it that Peggy Carter, founder of Shield, was the magician who'd perfected the process, invented the low level bond that carried only health and strength, with none of the emotions or threat of one personality overwhelming the other present in a traditional soul bond. She'd refused to confirm or deny it right it up until she'd died, so to this day no one knew for sure.

Whoever was responsible, before the low level bond BodyGuards had needed a full soul bond, which had made people much more reluctant to do the job. Afterwards, the market had exploded, with far more people willing to be BodyGuards. More BodyGuards meant more companies getting into the business and a lot of them didn't care about their BodyGuards, were only interested in the money their clients were offering.

Not Shield. Their BodyGuards were the best. Their selection process for BodyGuards and clients the most rigorous. They were the only agency that worked with charities to donate their BodyGuards' time. 

As Steve had grown older, he'd been torn about BodyGuards, his childish dreams becoming fogged with the stubbornness that kept him going, day in and day out, because it was all part of him: the sickness and the bits that didn't work, all of it. As he got older still, and had trouble climbing three flights of stairs, he'd think wistfully back on those days, remember his mom wishing on stars and candles and wishbones for him to have a BodyGuard. He'd think about what it would be like to have someone sharing their strength with him. Everything would still be part of him, he reasoned, no one would be taking it away, he just wouldn't have to deal with it anymore.  

All of which had led him here, staring down at two files and two photos: one of a slightly terrifying looking red-haired woman and one of a far less terrifying dark-haired man. He nodded once and closed the folders. He'd see if the man, James Buchanan Barnes, was interested in becoming his BodyGuard.

"What have you got?" Clint was drying his hair, staring down at Bucky who was flipping through a file.

"Potential client," Bucky said absently, attention on what he was reading. He was amazed the guy had made it to as old as he had, he had so many things wrong with him.

"Anyone good?"

Bucky stared up at him. "How exactly are we defining good, here?"

Clint shrugged. "Not rich and old and disgusting?"

"On that criteria, then yes, he's good." Bucky went back to reading, ignoring Clint, who eventually wandered off.

He probably shouldn't be reading in the change room of the gym, but he'd pulled the file out to shove his gear in his bag and the photo had caught his attention. The guy had the bluest eyes he'd ever seen and Bucky felt like he was daring Bucky not to read it. Bucky had plonked down on the bench and opened the file, intending to quickly skim it. Instead, he'd found himself reading the whole thing in detail.

He was pretty sure he was going to take him on.

Clients chose him fairly regularly, more than a few of the rich and old and disgusting ones Clint had mentioned, but Bucky was picky and Shield always let their BodyGuards have final say in everything. Up to this point, he'd only taken on temporary clients, people who'd been injured or gotten sick and needed him to get them through.

This one, he was pretty sure this one was going to be his long term client. It was a big decision. He'd have to meet him, really give it the consideration it deserved. Even if he said yes, taking on a long term client was very different from a temporary. They'd both have to go through a couple of months of shrinks and testing and enough paperwork to drown a cow before anything could be decided for certain.

But Bucky was pretty sure he was going to take him. As long as he wasn't a complete asshole. A little bit of an asshole was just fine.

The room was bland and very beige. There were several chairs scattered around, a coffee pot and mugs on a table on one side of the room, a window looking out over the car park. It was boring. Steve wandered over to peer out the window. It was still a car park, just like it had been the last two times.

He heard the door open and turned around to see the man from the folder.

He looked very different in real life. Bigger. He seemed much, much bigger. Steve knew he wasn't quite six feet, but he seemed taller. Broader. His hair was pulled back off his face and his eyes were bright and alert, studying Steve.

Steve pulled himself to his full height and studied him right back. They weren't dressed dissimilarly, both in jeans, but Steve was wearing a navy blue sweater he knew was a bit ratty at the sleeves, because it was warm and he got cold in the air conditioning, and old faded blue jeans. James, because that's who it was, was wearing a long sleeved red Henley, and his jeans were black, his shirt open at the throat.

They kept staring at each other and a smile slowly spread across James' face. Steve scowled, squaring his shoulders, forgetting he was supposed to be making a good impression. "What?" he snapped.

James' smile got wider and he chuckled. "Oh good, I was hoping you'd be a little bit of an asshole," he said and walked over to offer his hand. "James Buchanan Barnes, but call me Bucky."

"Steven Grant Rogers, if we're exchanging full names that we both already know," Steve said, shaking his hand and letting it go. "Call me Steve, since I don't have a fancy nickname, and what do you mean you were hoping I'd be a bit of an asshole?"

"If we're going to get along you'd have to be, because I sure as hell am."

"Is that the sort of thing you should be telling me?" This wasn't going at all how he'd expected. It was kind of a relief and Steve felt himself relax.

"Probably not, but if we do this we're going to be together for a long time, so you were going to figure it out." Bucky flashed him a smile. "Better to know going in."

Steve had to smile back. "Thanks for the warning. I think I can handle it."

"I think you probably can," he agreed, sounding pleased. "Okay, Steve. What do you want to ask me?"

"Was I supposed to bring a list?"

"Some people do."

Steve looked at his shoes, thinking. "Do you want to do this?" he asked, lifting his head. "I mean, do you really want to do this? No one's making you or you're not doing it because you're out of options or...I don't know. I guess that's the most important thing I need to know."

Surprise flashed across Bucky's face. "That's the most important thing you need to know."

"Yes."

Head tilted to the side, he studied Steve. Steve felt like he was being weighed, measured, especially when Bucky took a step closer, which put him right in Steve's personal space. "You mean that, don't you? You've got all these things wrong with you," Steve winced, but of course Bucky would have read his file, probably knew more about his health issues than Steve did at this point, "and that's the thing you care about."

"Uh, yes?"

"Huh." Bucky stepped back. "To answer your question, yes, I want to do it."

"Okay." Steve felt something settle in him. "Have you got any questions for me?"

"Not anymore." 

It was another beige room. The magician was wearing an immaculate charcoal grey pantsuit. Steve was starting to think charcoal grey pantsuits were the unofficial Shield uniform. He'd seen more charcoal grey pantsuits—although sometimes a Shield employee went wild and mixed it up with something cream—over the past two months than he'd ever seen in his life.

He'd seen doctors, psychologists, on his own and with Bucky, magicians—and one of them had examined his soul, which had tickled, and Steve really thought someone looking at your soul shouldn't tickle—lawyers, who were much, much scarier than the magicians, and filled out so much paperwork.

In the middle of it all he'd spent three days in hospital when his body had decided it was simply too much. He'd been surprised to wake up and find Bucky sitting next to his bed, looking down at him with concerned eyes. "I talked to Maria Hill," he'd said when he'd seen Steve was awake. "She's in charge of BodyGuard assignments. I asked if we can do anything to speed this up. She said she'd see what she can do."

Steve had blinked up at him, understanding the words but not quite processing why he was there, and he'd shaken his head. "Don't worry about it, Steve." Bucky had pulled the blanket higher, tucking it around him, careful of the IV. "Just get better so we can get this finished. I'd like to make sure I never see you in here again. Okay?" Steve had nodded and drifted off to sleep again with Bucky's hand on his shoulder. When he'd woken up again, Bucky had been gone. Steve would have thought he'd imagined it, but suddenly things had started moving much faster and they were done in a month instead of the usual two.

Now they were sitting in the bland, beige, couldn't-be-more-corporate-if-it-tried room, hands clasped, wrists bound together with leather and silk, while a woman in a charcoal grey pantsuit laid an assortment of artefacts around them in a careful configuration. There were bones and feathers and stones and other items Steve couldn't identify. He looked away as she sliced her palm and dripped blood onto each one.

Steve was excited and nervous, the two emotions chasing each other like hyperactive puppies. His heart was racing and he could feel the flutter. He closed his eyes and tried to take deep breaths but he could feel the hitch. "Hey." Bucky squeezed his hand. "It's okay. Steve." Steve opened his eyes. Bucky was looking at him, eyes calm and reassuring. "Just look at me." Steve did. "They do this every day. It's like photocopying or filing a tax return." The magician shot him a dirty look and he winked at her. She rolled her eyes. Steve felt himself smile. "There you go. Just breathe slow, it won't be long."

"Why are you so calm?"

"Because this is going to be just fine. Because she's a professional. Because I'm about to be bonded to someone I like." He grinned. "Who's a bit of an asshole."

Steve laughed quietly as his nerves melted away. "Yeah, well, takes one to know one."

"What are you, five?" Bucky's eyes were dancing and he squeezed Steve's hand again.

"At least I don't go around calling people an asshole. I thought you were supposed to be a professional."

"Hate to break it you, Steve, but this is about as professional as I get. And you definitely called me an asshole."

"The words never left my mouth."

"Takes one to know one? You implied I was an asshole."

"You may have inferred it, but I didn't imply anything."

The magician cleared her throat. Loudly and pointedly. They both turned to look at her. She was tapping her foot, both eyebrows raised, clearly asking If you're both quite done?

Steve winced and said, "Sorry."

Bucky grinned at her and pulled Steve's arm closer so it was tucked against his ribs. "We're ready."

The magician moved her hands in complicated gestures it hurt Steve's eyes to watch, so he let them settle on their joined hands. His whole body jerked when the power hit and he was grateful his arm was pressed against Bucky's side; it anchored him in here and now as power poured over him and through him, like warm honey. For one moment, he could feel Bucky, could feel him like Steve was part of him, like they were the same person. Bucky? But then he was gone and only a slender fragment remained, twisting through him like a rope, like a wire, winding around the cord pulling out of him. He felt the bond snap into being between them, like a dislocated joint locking into place, and the whole world faded away.

"Steve." He blinked his eyes open, saw Bucky's concerned face a few inches from his, and then Bucky was settling back in his chair, a huge, satisfied smile on his face. "How are you feeling?"

There was a strange hum under his skin, like a weird energy, and he frowned. "I don't know." He took a deep breath. There was no catch, no hitch. He'd been out long enough their wrists had been untied, and he swung his arms, stood up and jumped in place, aware he probably looked like an idiot. 

There was nothing. He felt amazing. Nothing hurt, there was no strain, he could almost feel strength pouring in from somewhere, no it was pouring in from Bucky. He could feel the bond, like a warm spot under his sternum. "Is that you?" he asked, awed, pressing his fist over it. Bucky nodded and touched a matching spot on his chest. Bucky, who was watching him with a combination of proud and fond on his face. Without stopping to think, he closed the distance between them and hugged him hard. "Bucky. Thank you."

He felt Bucky stiffen in surprise and was about to let go, when Bucky relaxed, wrapped his arms around him tightly and hugged him just as hard. "You're welcome."

"Sorry," he said a bit sheepishly when he pulled away, running an embarrassed hand through his hair. "I got a little carried away."

"Hey, don't apologise. It's completely understandable." Bucky smiled, and it was kind and fond, but Steve was pretty sure he probably shouldn’t do it again, no matter how much warm affection wanted to spill over in Bucky's direction.

"Thank you," he said to the magician, who inclined her head graciously.

Bucky stood up and stretched. "We should go get started on the paperwork if we want to get home before midnight."

Steve nodded, then bounced a little on his toes. "Can we walk the long way through the park?"

He stared at Steve, then sighed dramatically. "Yes, we can walk the long way through the park," he said, then added with mock despair, "I've created a monster."

The nature of a soul bond short-cutted years of knowing someone. Being hooked into someone's soul established a level of comfort between two people that usually only came with years of familiarity.

There were no awkward pauses, no moments of twitchy discomfort. It felt natural being around Bucky. Steve had read about it. Read all the literature, talked to the psychologist, they both had, who'd made sure they understood the ramifications of the bond. It was nothing Bucky hadn't already known; he'd been through this before, after all. But reading about it, hearing about it, hadn't quite prepared Steve for how it felt, to react to Bucky like he'd known him for years when in reality they'd only known each other for a month.

Keeping the soul bond healthy, keeping it intact, meant they needed to be together most of the time. That meant living together and Bucky had taken one look at Steve's apartment and said, "No." It had taken some convincing before Steve had been willing to invade Bucky's space, but he'd finally agreed.

Steve still felt a little guilty about moving into Bucky's home, but it was a much nicer apartment, much closer to everything, and it gave them a lot more room to move around each other than they would have had if they'd moved into Steve's. Not that either of them felt the need for a lot of space from each other.

Steve tried not to think about it, but even before the soul bond he'd felt pretty damn comfortable around Bucky. He wasn't actually sure the soul bond had changed things that much.

It had been two weeks since they'd been soul bonded. Two weeks since Steve had had an asthma attack, since he'd had to stop and lean on something to get his breath back, two weeks since he'd just hurt for no reason, since his heart had scared the shit out of him by dancing the tango in his chest.

Steve still stopped sometimes and stared at Bucky with a kind of awe.

The first time, Bucky had stared back at him, then come over and squeezed his shoulder. Had said, "I know, it's hard to get used to. But it's real and you're healthy. You're really not sick anymore." Had smiled at him until Steve shook it off and smiled back, then returned to drinking his coffee like nothing had happened. The next few times he'd patiently looked back, holding Steve's gaze, until Steve had gotten over it.

This time, he rolled his eyes and said, "For fuck's sake, Steve. That's it." He stood up, walked over to where Steve was standing, grasped him by the shoulders, turned him around and pushed him in the direction of his room. "Go put on something you can run in. Right now."

"What?"

"Clothes you can run in, unless you want to run in those." Bucky gave Steve a once over. Since he was currently wearing cotton pyjama pants and a t-shirt with a monkey on it, and Bucky sounded deadly serious, Steve disappeared into his room. He came out wearing track pants, a t-shirt and sneakers. Bucky gave him another once over. "Those will do for now, but we're getting you something better." While Steve had been gone, he'd changed into running shorts and a tank top, pulled his hair into a ponytail, and Steve couldn't quite stop himself from appreciating the frankly ridiculous amounts of toned muscle on display. Bucky was exceptionally attractive, something he was usually careful not to notice.

"Come on." Bucky pushed him towards the door. "We'll walk to the park so you can warm up." It didn't take them long. As they got closer, Steve could feel himself getting antsier. He kept glancing up at Bucky and away. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

They reached the park and it was grassy, with scattered trees, a lake in the middle, and peaceful, not many people around. Bucky stretched, gesturing at Steve to do the same. Steve copied Bucky's movements as best he could, enjoying being able to do so without pain, without getting out of breath. "Okay," Bucky said. "We're going to jog down around the bridge, past the ducks, watch out if the goose is there, because he's a bastard and a half, past the fountain and then we'll go and get coffee. Sound good?"

Steve stared down the path towards the bridge.

"Steve? Seriously, what's wrong?" Bucky poked his shoulder and Steve looked up to meet his eyes.

"It's stupid."

Bucky shrugged. "I've known you for long enough now, I've heard you say stupid stuff before."

"Jerk."

"Yup. What's bugging you?"

"I'm nervous."

Bucky's eyebrows pulled down and his eyes grew concerned. "About what?"

Steve's huffed a breath of laughter. "Running."

For a moment, Bucky's expression was confused, then it cleared and all that was left was understanding and warm sympathy. "Your brain doesn't think it's safe."

"Not my brain so much. It's on board. It's the rest of me. Three weeks ago this would have stood a chance of putting me in the hospital. Now, I've got you in here," he touched the warm spot on his sternum, "keeping me healthy and strong and letting me run around parks. I know it, but I'm having trouble believing it."

"I'd ask you if you trust me, but that's a cheat. The soul bond basically makes us trust each other."

"Pretty sure I already trusted you," Steve pointed out.

It got him a quick smile, but all Bucky said was, "Hush. As I was saying, I'd ask if you trust me, but that's pointless, because I know you do. So I'm just going to tell you this." He stepped close to Steve and lifted one hand to gently touch his cheek. Steve blinked up at him, not able to look away from his eyes. "Suck it up, Rogers." Bucky grinned and Steve laughed in surprise. "Come on, around the bridge, watch out for the goose, and I'll buy you coffee," he said and started jogging backwards away from Steve. 

"You're such an asshole," Steve told him, but he took a deep breath and jogged after him.

"You knew that going in."

"You're going out tonight?" Bucky looked up from buttoning his shirt. Steve was leaning in the doorway of his room, watching him with a smile on his face. They'd been living together for six weeks and it was about the happiest Bucky could ever remember being. He wanted to blame it on the soul bond, but he couldn't.

He'd been bonded before, and some of those times had been the most miserable of his life. The only reason he'd never exercised the cancellation option in the contracts was that he didn't have it in him to send someone back to suffering.

He'd come damn close a time or two, though.

So he knew this happiness wasn't the fault of the bond. He was pretty sure it was the fault of the person he was bonded to.  Part of it was how good it felt knowing how much of a difference he was making to Steve—sitting next to his hospital bed when he'd gotten sick during the assessment process had been very unpleasant—but it was more than that. Steve just made him happy.  "What gave it away?"

"My keen powers of observation," Steve said dryly. "And you brushed your hair." Bucky glared at him, amused, because his hair always looked fantastic, thank you. "If you're going out, I guess you don't want pizza?"

Bucky shook his head. "You guess correctly. How do I look?"

"Terrible. There's no way anyone's going to let you in the door without a bag over your head." Bucky scooped a sock off the floor to throw at him, which, grinning, he neatly dodged. "You look good, Bucky. Same as you always do."

"Do you want to come? I'm just meeting some friends for drinks, we're going to talk crap and waste time. It'll be fun," he added in a coaxing tone.

"When you make it sound so enticing..." For one second, Bucky thought he was going to say yes, something vaguely wistful passing over his face, then he shook his head. "No, you go. I don't want to intrude. I can't take over your whole life."

Bucky wanted to say, Yes you can, actually, that would be fine, but Steve had that stubborn look in his eyes, so instead he shrugged and said, "If you change your mind, call me."

He wouldn't, Bucky knew, even though he made a vague affirmative noise as he walked away.

The bar was loud enough to be satisfying, quiet enough to talk without yelling, and Clint had managed to snag the best table outside by dint of sprawling across three chairs and staring blankly at anyone who approached with the intent of taking it over. Or so Bucky assumed, since it was his usual trick and there they were with the best table.

"Bucky, hey man," he called, and Sam and Natasha waved, heads bent over the napkin they were intently focused on. Natasha was scribbling something with a pen he suspected she'd stolen from one of the bartenders and Sam was nodding and pointing at what she was writing.

"Hey, Clint," he replied, pulling out a chair and setting his beer on the table. "Do I want to know what they're doing?"

"Honestly, I have no idea. That would require me knowing what they were doing. One minute it was all fun and games and the next it was possible projected length of a soul bond and the effect of something or other, I don't know. You know I don't care about the theory."

Sam and Natasha lifted their heads to look at him. Natasha verging on a glare, Sam simply disappointed. "Seriously, man, you should care," Sam said. "This is your soul we're talking about."

"But that's why we work for Shield, not Hydra or Aim or one of the other scum factories, so we don't need to worry about it."

Natasha titled her head. "You might not always be so lucky."

Clint's expression softened. "I know, Nat," he said and patted her arm. "Sorry."

Sam looked between them, then up at Bucky. "Right, I'm officially changing the subject before everyone's crying into their beer. Bucky, we want to hear about your new client. I'm guessing he's one of the jealous ones who won't let you out of his sight, given we've hardly seen you since you took him on."

"No!" All three stared at him and Sam's eyebrows lifted at the outburst. "I mean, no. Steve's not like that."

"Uh huh," the three exchanged glances, "and what's he like?"

"He's nice." Bucky sipped his beer. "He's a good guy."

"Are you talking about a man or a Labrador?" Natasha asked, arching an eyebrow.

"He likes to run in the park, he's friendly and loyal and kind, so..." Bucky trailed off with a grin when her eyes narrowed. "Just kidding." Except he realised he kind of wasn't, except for the part where he was comparing Steve to a dog. And Steve still wasn't all that keen on jogging, only kept doing it because Bucky prodded him, which Bucky only did because it was good for him, now that he could actually do it safely.

And sometimes, when Steve would strike an even stride, find his rhythm, he'd get a look of wonder on his face that could steal the breath right out of Bucky's lungs.

Natasha snapped her fingers in front of his face. He blinked. "Welcome back." Clint was laughing at him and Sam was grinning.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I was thinking about something."

"Or someone?" Sam asked knowingly.

"Getting a little bit attached are we?" Clint teased.

"Maybe a little, but what are you gonna do?" Bucky asked ruefully. "Like I said, he's a good guy. I like him."

"Bucky, you're too experienced to be getting mushy over a client bond," Natasha told him.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "It's not that, Nat. I've been bonded too many times not to know the difference. I just like him. There's nothing wrong with that. He's easy to be around, is all." He took another long pull of his beer. "It's not a big deal. What about you guys? Any clients on the horizon?"

Clint took pity on him and launched into a story of the very rich, very unpleasant man who'd picked Clint out of a list of candidates, as it turned out because he really liked Clint's arms. Which hadn't been discovered until the face to face meeting where he'd apparently tried to get up close and personal with them. Unsuccessfully. After which he'd been firmly and forcefully invited to try one of the other agencies. Shield was very protective of its BodyGuards.

This inevitably led to an impromptu bicep comparison, which had led to arm wrestling, at which it was a forgone conclusion that Natasha would kick all of their asses.

It wasn't late when Bucky got home, so he wasn't surprised to find Steve still up. He was sitting on the couch, curled in the corner. Bucky stood, watching him for a bit, then shook himself and glanced at the TV. A black and white movie was playing on the screen, a castle and lightning and..."Is this Young Frankenstein?"

Steve twisted around to look at him. "Yeah, I was in the mood."

"I love this movie. Restart it so I can watch it with you?"

Steve's smile was pleased and it made a tiny little spot of warmth spark into life, just above the spot on Bucky's chest where he could feel the soul bond. "Happy to."

"And we need popcorn."

"Whatever you say, Bucky."

Steve followed him into the kitchen, like he didn't trust Bucky to make microwave popcorn on his own. "Did you have a good time?"

"I did," Bucky replied, digging out the popcorn and putting it in the microwave. "You should have come."

"Maybe next time."

Bucky set the timer and then frowned thoughtfully. "We need peanut butter."

"What for?" Steve was staring at him with deep suspicion.

"For the popcorn."

"What?"

"For the popcorn," Bucky repeated, not sure what the problem was, heading for the cupboard where the peanut butter lived.

Moving fast, Steve got in his way, standing between him and the cupboard. "No. Peanut butter does not belong on popcorn."

"Says who?"

"Says me and every sane person on earth."

"Steve, Steve, you're missing out. Peanut butter on popcorn is the finest thing in the land."

There was a spark of amusement in Steve's eyes, he could see it, but the rest of Steve was stubbornness personified. "It's really not."

"It really is. Steve, move."

"Not a chance."

"Move or I'll move you."

"What about me makes you think threats are going to work?" His tone was genuinely curious and Bucky had to admit he had a point. In fact, Bucky had probably just made this worse.

"You're standing between me and the peanut butter. That wasn't a threat, it was a solemn promise." Bucky took one step closer, which put him very close to Steve, who tipped his head back to keep his eyes on Bucky's. "Last chance," he warned teasingly.

Steve stayed where he was, arms folded.

Bucky reached out to grab Steve, intending to shift him out of the way, and realised as his fingers closed around Steve's hips that he'd made a mistake. Steve's hips were sharp under his hands. Steve was so close he could feel the heat from his body. He swallowed and Bucky's heart kicked into gear. His hands flexed and he was suddenly very aware of their size; his fingers dug in a little without his conscious control. Bucky was trapped. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Steve's. Steve's back was against the counter, Bucky's hands were wrapped around his hips, Steve was effectively caged in by his body, but Bucky was trapped.

Steve slowly began to unfold his arms, to do what Bucky didn't know, and the microwave dinged, loud and startling. Bucky jumped back. Ran a hand through his hair. He turned away to get the popcorn out of the microwave and heard the cupboard door open and close.

When he turned around, Steve was gone and his heart sank. He'd run away, which was not something Bucky ever thought Steve would do. Except here he was, coming back through the kitchen door. There was something in his eyes, something uncertain, but Bucky pretended he didn't see it.

"No peanut butter," Steve said, sounding satisfied.

Bucky blinked, then went to look in the cupboard. The peanut butter was gone. "You hid the peanut butter."

"Yup."

Bucky summoned up a grin and it wasn't as hard as he'd thought it would be, because whatever that had just been, Steve was still the guy who'd just hidden the peanut butter. "All right, no peanut butter. This time."

When they settled on the couch and Steve restarted the movie, it was briefly awkward. Or it might just have been in Bucky's head. It probably was. He didn't know. But that moment in the kitchen had changed something. Or broken through something. Or ripped something away. He was seeing Steve in a new light, a new light that meant he kind of understood why Steve made him happy. It also meant he kind of wanted to kiss him. Among other things. Shit.

Steve might be interested. They were both bi, it was in their files, so it was possible. Bucky didn't know, wasn't sure...but he couldn't do anything, wouldn't do anything, that could hurt Steve or make him feel awkward or uncomfortable, wouldn't do anything that would put pressure on him. Steve needed him, needed their soul bond, and that was more important than whatever stupid, warm, mushy, soft (and not so soft), feelings Bucky was having towards him.

He looked up to find Steve watching him, blue eyes studying his face. He grabbed a handful of popcorn. "This really would be better with peanut butter."

Steve shook his head sadly, as if Bucky was the greatest disappointment in the world. "Shut up and eat your popcorn."

"Come here often?"

Steve looked up to see Bucky grinning at him from down the sidewalk and pushed off the wall to go meet him. "With lines like that you must be beating them off with a stick."

"I do all right," Bucky said modestly, then reached out to squeeze Steve's shoulder and pull him in to stand by his side. Steve wasn't sure when Bucky had gotten into that habit, but he didn't mind. He really didn't mind, even though he knew he should probably stop him. It didn't make any of this any easier.

"I could have just met you at Shield, you know."

Bucky shrugged. "It's a nice evening, I don't mind the walk." Steve fell into step beside him as he started to walk. "How was work?"

"It was work; irritating clients, inane meetings, bad coffee."

"In other words, you loved it."

Steve smiled. "I did." Being able to come into work every day, not having to work from home because he was too sick to leave the house, was still pretty incredible. The shiny still hadn't worn off. Even the most boring, most irritating aspects of office life still left him having a pretty good day. 

Knowing Bucky was waiting at the end of it had made it even better, even if they were going to Shield for a six monthly check up on the soul bond. Ever since that night in the kitchen, he'd been slipping a little further down a path he'd been doing his damnedest not to walk. He didn't know whether to curse the microwave or bestow a medal on it, because he didn't know what he would have done.

His better self was grateful for the interruption. Bucky was a dream, a literal dream come true. He was everything Steve had imagined as a child when he'd dreamed of someone to come and share their strength with him. He was all the things grown-up Steve had dreamed of when he'd let himself imagine someone to share his life with. They were both people he'd never thought he'd ever have, rolled up in one beautiful, kind, sarcastic package, and Steve could never have him, not the way he'd come to want him.  

Bucky was bonded into his soul, Steve was reaching into Bucky and pulling on his strength every minute of every day. Steve knew, even though Bucky tried to hide it, how much it meant to him that he was doing this for Steve, how much it meant to him that Steve was healthy and strong—even if he sometimes expressed it by dragging him running through the park. Steve had no idea if Bucky could ever feel the same way, but he did know it wouldn't be fair to ask. Because Steve had a feeling that if Bucky thought Steve needed it? If he thought that was what Steve needed to keep on being healthy and strong and relying on Bucky? That Bucky would try his best to give it to him, regardless of how he actually felt. Steve couldn't do that to him.

"Hey." Bucky nudged Steve's shoulder. "What's up?"

"Nothing. Just hoping this goes okay."

"It's no big deal. The magician that put it in place is just going to check the bond, make sure it's still strong, that nothing's wiggled loose, and then send us on our way. It's a formality. Besides, we'd know if there was a problem." He tapped the spot on his chest where the bond resided then raised his eyebrows at Steve. "Still there?"

Steve smiled and pressed his hand against the warm spot under his sternum. "Still there."

"See? Nothing to worry about."

Bucky was right. The magician stared at them, eyes unfocused, for five minutes, put her hand on Steve's forehead, muttered something that for all Steve knew could have been her shopping list in Latin, pronounced herself satisfied, and they left.

"I told you it was a formality," Bucky said as they were walking home. "I've been to a bunch of these and it's always the same."

Steve looked at him curiously. "Can I ask, how many clients have you had?"

"You're my first, and last," Bucky's eyes slipped sideways to meet Steve's and his heart skipped a beat, because they held something serious, something he didn't have words for, "long term client, unless something drastic happens. But short term? A dozen or so."

"Is that strange? Having soul bonds with people and then having them taken away?" The thought of losing his bond to Bucky, of losing that point of warmth under his sternum, made him uneasy and it had nothing to do with the idea of going back to being sick.

"I guess a little? But you know going in it's only temporary. It would be different if—" He shook his head. "Never mind."

"What?"

They walked in silence for a bit before Bucky said, "It would be different if it was never supposed to be temporary and you lost it. That would be hard, I think."

Steve leaned in to bump his shoulder against Bucky's, looking up to meet his eyes. "Not going to happen, Bucky, so don't worry about it," he said seriously. Bucky nodded and pulled his eyes away.

A group of joggers ran past, talking and laughing, and Steve gave himself a mental shake. "Why did you become a BodyGuard, anyway? Feel free to tell me to shut up and mind my own business if I'm being too nosy."

"Shut up and mind your own business," Bucky replied automatically and Steve huffed a laugh.

"I knew you were going to say that."

"Sure you did." Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets. "And of course you can ask, Steve. You can ask me anything you want." He was frowning thoughtfully at the ground and he finally said, "A few years ago there was a kid on the news, got caught up in a domestic violence thing, was hurt really badly, lots of surgeries, skin grafts, the works. She was ten. Both her parents were gone, she was in the care of the State and a charity was funding her, but they never have enough. I called Maria, and two days later Shield had volunteered my services. Three days after that they soul bonded me to her—it's a lot less complicated for temporary bonds and lot less complicated for kids. After that she was in almost no pain, she was strong enough to get through it all with almost no trauma, to start recovering and really get into the physical therapy. I could do that for her."

Steve stopped walking and stood in the middle of the path, staring at Bucky. Bucky didn't notice.

"I could do it because I was born perfectly, disgustingly healthy, with not a damn thing wrong with me, and nothing's ever happened to change that. I can't take any credit for it, it's just the luck of the draw. The magic can use that, can take some of the strength and the health that's apparently just bubbling up out of me and give it to other people. I always wanted to help people. When I was a kid I thought I was going to be a soldier or a fireman or a scientist. Turns out, I can make a difference by doing this." He noticed Steve wasn't beside him and turned around. "Steve?"

Steve shook his head, because he wasn't quite capable of talking just at the moment. He'd always wondered what it would feel like to fall in love, and now he knew. It felt like being thrown off a cliff and not quite ever hitting the ground.

Bucky walked back to stand in front of him and Steve reached way down deep inside himself and found the power of speech. "That's amazing, Bucky. You're incredible. And that little girl was lucky to have you."

"She was a good kid." He tilted his head, studying Steve. "You okay?"

Bucky knew him far too well, he could tell when something was up. "I'm fine, just thinking about when I was a kid," he offered.

"Yeah?"

Steve started walking again and Bucky fell into step beside him. "I was always sick, my mom used to worry so much even though she tried to hide it. She used to lie down with me and she'd tell me about BodyGuards," a small smile appeared on Bucky's face, "about how they were these special people who used magic to share their strength with you, who'd make it so the sickness couldn't reach you anymore. I remember asking her, I think I was five or six, if we could ask one of them to come over, just for a little while, so she wouldn’t have to look after me so much and she could have a break." Bucky's smile faded. "But she said they were all very busy looking after other little kids who were really, really sick, who'd die without them. And then I wanted to write them a letter to say thank you for looking after all the really sick kids."

Bucky pressed a hand to his forehead. "Steve, you're killing me here."

"Hey, I was just a kid, I didn't know any better," Steve protested.

"Not what I meant," Bucky muttered.

"Anyway, she used to dream about me having a BodyGuard." He kicked the ground. "She died about ten years ago, but she'd have liked you. She'd have liked you a hell of a lot. I think you're pretty much what she imagined when she used to sit with me and dream."

Bucky stopped and wrapped his hand around Steve's arm, pulling him to a halt. "Goddammit, Steve," he said and then he pulled Steve into a hug.  It was so unexpected, it took him a moment to react, and then he was wrapping his arms around Bucky, hugging him back. "What's this for?"

"What did you expect, making me picture baby Steve writing letters and then telling me your mom would have liked me? You pretty much brought this on yourself." He sounded grumpy, but Steve could tell he didn't mean it. "Now you just have to deal with it."

Steve smiled against Bucky's shoulder and closed his eyes. "It is a hardship. I'm not sure how I'm going to cope."

"Suck it up."

Bucky's arms were strong and they felt incredibly good around him. Bucky was so much bigger than Steve, he was completely surrounded by Bucky's warmth and he wanted to stay here forever. He couldn't, but he could let himself enjoy it for as long as it lasted. He doubted he'd get another chance. "You know, you could still be a scientist. Or do something with science. If you want to go back to school, I'm pretty sure between the two of us we could manage it."

Bucky leaned back to study Steve's face. "You're serious."

"I'm serious. Not an expensive university or anything, but we can figure something out."

"Steve, that's—" Bucky was looking down at Steve and their faces were very close. "I don't know what to say."

Steve's arms were around Bucky, Bucky's hands were resting at the small of his back. It would be so easy. So easy for Steve to lean forward, to lean up and kiss him, to press a hand against his chest for balance. So easy and so wrong. "Don't say anything," he said with a quick smile. "It hasn't happened yet." Steve took a deep breath and made himself let go. Bucky's hands fell and Steve took three deliberate steps backwards. "We should get going. It's getting late."

"Yeah." Bucky's eyes were dark and something flashed through them, fast as a darting fish. "It is." Then he smiled and his eyes were bright again. "Come on."

For his peace of his mind, Steve wanted to put distance between them, but Bucky stepped into his usual place at Steve's side, close enough their shoulders brushed, and Steve realised he wanted to be there more.

"Up you get." The pillow under Steve's head disappeared and he looked blearily up at Bucky.

"Why do you hate me?" Bucky beamed down at him, all innocence." Why are you like this?" he groaned and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Because tormenting you holds a special place in my heart."

Steve sighed and opened his eyes. "Why did you take my pillow?"

"Because you're coming to the gym with me this morning."

"I'm really not."

"You really are."

They stared at each other, neither willing to look away, Bucky standing over Steve's bed, his pillow in hand. Steve was tempted to roll over and pull the covers over his head. He knew if he did that Bucky would actually leave him alone, but Bucky was in a startlingly good mood this morning and there was nothing in him that could resist Bucky when he was this happy. "Why?" he asked, sounding resigned, and Bucky grinned in triumph.

"Because it's raining, which means we can't go running."

"See, that should be good news."

"Shut up, you know you like it." Steve actually did, but he huffed at Bucky and scowled, because there were appearances to be maintained. Judging by the amused look, Bucky wasn't fooled. "So you can come to the gym with me and use the treadmill instead."

Steve looked dubious. Running at the park was one thing. He could just imagine Bucky's gym, filled with people who looked like Bucky. Somehow, Steve didn't think he was going to be all that comfortable there. It must have shown on his face, because Bucky said, "If you don't want to go, you don't have to." He looked a little disappointed, though, and Steve had no defense against that.

"No, it's fine, Bucky. I'll go. Are you going to let me have breakfast and coffee, or do I have to go in my pyjamas?"

"Tempted as I am to say you have to go in your PJs, I don't really want to deal with you if you haven't had coffee. You've got ten minutes until I feed you pancakes and coffee, then we'll head out. Deal?"

"Deal."

Bucky grinned again and dropped the pillow on Steve's head.

The gym turned out to be the gym at Shield. Bucky had to sign him in as a guest, and when they got inside there was no one else there. Bucky set him up on the treadmill and leaned on the sidebar while Steve jogged the distance he would have at the park. When he was finished, Steve stretched and walked over to watch Bucky run through his workout.

It was not a hardship. It wouldn't have been a hardship even if he hadn't been completely gone on the man. As it was, Steve was glad Bucky was happy to work out in companionable silence, because coherent conversation wasn't going to be happening anytime soon.

Steve looked up as someone else walked into the gym.

"Clint, hey," Bucky called, and put down the dumbbell he'd been lifting, wiping his face with a towel.

Clint was looking between Steve and Bucky, a little frown on his face. Steve was struck with a sudden sinking feeling.

"Hey, man. Uh, did you bring a client here?"

Bucky's posture changed and he shifted so he was between Clint and Steve. "I brought a friend here. I hope that's not a problem."

Clint looked awkward and uncomfortable. Steve could only see the lines of Bucky's back, but they were tense and Steve suddenly felt bad. He stood up and moved to stand in front of Bucky. "I'm sorry," he said. "You're right. I shouldn't be here."

"Steve." Bucky's hand settled on his shoulder.

Steve looked back at Bucky for a moment before shifting his attention back to Clint. "No, this is supposed to be your space. It was okay before anyone else was here, but you guys should be able to use your gym without having to worry about clients. I'm going to go." He gave Clint a brief smile. "Sorry," he said again, picked up his towel and headed towards the change rooms. He could hear Clint whisper something to Bucky, Bucky whisper something in reply, all too quiet for him to make out.

"Wait," Clint called. "Come back."

Steve turned around and flashed Bucky a very disappointed look. "What did I just say?"

A smile spread across Clint's face and Bucky held up his hands. "I didn't do anything!"

"He didn't," Clint said, obviously amused. "Look, you're right. Clients being here is not okay. Usually. But you seem like a decent guy and you're Bucky's," Bucky shot him a glare, "uh, Bucky's Steve, so stay. No one else is going to come in on a Saturday, so it should be fine." He held out his hand. "Clint, nice to meet you."

"Steve, but you already knew that. Good to meet you, too." Steve walked back and shook his hand. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. It'll be fine."

If Steve had realised that when Clint and Bucky had finished their workouts they were going to turn their collective attention on him, he would have kept on walking when Clint had called him back. It had been fine, sitting and talking while they did their thing, listening to them give each other shit. They'd obviously been friends a long time and it was nice to be included.

He should have known from the gleam in Bucky's eyes that he wasn't going to like what came next, but he wasn't expecting him to enlist Clint's help. By the time they were done, he was exhausted and familiar with more pieces of gym equipment than he wanted to be. He wasn't sore, precisely, Bucky had been more careful than that, but he could tell he'd been worked harder than ever in his life.

He'd showered, dressed and was sitting on a bench in the change room to pull on his shoes when Bucky came through the door from the showers. He had a towel slung around his hips, his wet hair was curling around his neck, and there was water beading on his skin. 

Steve was just a man. Up to this point, he'd kept everything he felt for Bucky locked away, kept it shoved down deep inside where he knew Bucky wouldn't be able to see it. But as his gaze involuntarily swept up the length of Bucky's body and met his eyes he could feel it rising up in him like the tide. Want, yes, but more than that, so much more. He was still falling off that cliff and he couldn't find the ground, he could barely breathe with it, and he could feel the truth writing itself on his face and the lines of his body.

Bucky's eyes went dark, intent, like nothing else existed in the world but Steve. They were pinning Steve in place. All that glorious, half-naked Bucky on display and Steve couldn't look away from his eyes. Steve would swear they were practically glowing.

Bucky murmured his name.

Steve's eyes widened.

Clint walked in the door and froze.

He looked back and forth between them and said, "You know what? I'm gonna come back later."

He walked out, but the moment was broken. Bucky was turning away, rummaging in his bag. "Forgot my clothes," he muttered. He grabbed them and disappeared into the showers.

Steve stared down at his hands. Hope wanted to unfurl in his heart but he ruthlessly squashed it down, because no. Whatever that had been, it wasn't what it looked like. Most likely, Bucky had been responding to whatever he'd seen in Steve, because Steve knew he'd been broadcasting love, and probably lust, like some sort of lighthouse. It was exactly what Steve had been worried was going to happen.

So no, he wasn't going to hope.

When Bucky came out, it was like the moment had never happened. He laughed and gave Steve shit about being tired, but Steve could tell he was proud of him, of how well he'd done today. When they left, he tucked Steve into his normal place by his side, so their shoulders brushed as they walked. He behaved exactly the same as he always did.

Steve knew he'd been right not to hope. He'd have to get better at locking everything away.

Bucky glanced over to see Steve's eyes slipping shut. "Go to bed, will you?" They were sitting on the couch, watching TV. Everything was completely normal. They'd eaten dinner and it had been completely normal. They'd washed the dishes and it had been completely normal.

"I want to see how this ends," he said around a yawn.

Bucky kept watching him out of the corner of his eye. After the workout Bucky had put him through today, he wasn't surprised Steve was tired. He spared a moment to send mental thanks to Clint, because Bucky had been so close to reaching out and asking for something he knew he couldn't have. It had taken him a few minutes to get himself under control after Clint had left, but he'd gotten there and now everything was completely normal again.

The people on the TV did something inexplicable, Bucky didn't know what, he was barely paying attention. Steve was doing his best to keep his eyes open and failing miserably. "Steve."

"I'm fine." Steve slumped lower on the couch.

"I can see that," he said, amused. He made an effort to focus, so he could tell Steve what happened when he inevitably fell asleep, though he wasn't sure which of the generic heroic characters was which and honestly, at this point, who was the good guy and who was the bad guy. He was pretty sure Steve didn't actually care about the ending, he was just too stubborn to admit he couldn't stay awake.

A few minutes later, he just about jumped out of his skin when a weight settled on his lap.

Bucky looked down. Steve's head was resting on his thigh and as he watched Steve wormed one hand under his leg. He couldn't help smiling. He knew Steve had been tired, but he hadn't known he was tired enough to fall asleep and use him as a pillow.

Bucky definitely wasn't objecting.

Steve's hair was falling across his face, and he gently brushed it back, tucked it behind his ear. When Bucky's fingers touched his face, Steve sighed a little and rubbed his cheek against Bucky's thigh. Bucky closed his eyes briefly. This was a weird combination of torture and heaven. His hand hovered briefly in the air and then, with a sigh of his own, he settled it on Steve's shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze. He'd just sit here with him until he woke up, since he wasn't prepared to move and disturb him.

Bucky was pretty sure he was actually in love with Steve. He wasn't sure when it had happened, but his fingers itched to touch him all the time and his heart ached so much he thought he knew how Steve must have felt before the soul bond. But if this was all he could have, he was okay with that. He had Steve. They were going to be together for a very long time. Maybe literally until death did them part. Do them parted. Bucky frowned, because that was a stupidly awkward phrase. Until one of them died. He'd have to talk to Natasha and Clint and Sam, about making sure someone would step up for Steve if something happened to him.

Steve stirred, shifted around, making a low noise in his throat. It sounded worried.

Bucky ran his fingers gently through his hair, knowing he probably shouldn't. It wasn't going to make this any easier. "Go to sleep, Steve," he said softly. "Nothing to worry about. I'm here, you're safe, just keep sleeping."

A heartbreakingly sweet smile spread across Steve's face and he snuggled closer to Bucky.

If this was all he could have, he could be okay with it.

It was both easier and harder now that Bucky had admitted to himself what he felt for Steve was actually love. Sometimes, when he'd accidentally meet Steve's eyes, he thought he'd see something in them that mirrored what he felt. Just for a second. But when he'd look again, it would be gone.

Clint had helpfully informed him that there was a word for that: projecting. Because of course Clint had demanded an explanation for what the hell had been going on when he'd walked into the change rooms at the gym. So of course Bucky had to explain that he'd fallen head over goddamn heels in love with his fucking client like an idiot.

Not that he'd put it like that. Those had been Natasha's words. Natasha, as a general rule, didn't have a lot of patience for clients. Her experiences before she'd come to Shield hadn't been the best, so it was understandable. She'd asked for—and gotten—the story of what had happened at the gym. In great and exacting detail, which she'd extracted, one question at a time. When Bucky had explained what he had, or hadn't, been wearing, she'd nodded sagely.

"That explains his reaction. It's called lust, Bucky. I'm surprised he didn't try and jump you right there."

"Steve would never do that."

She raised an eyebrow at him and he felt himself getting angry, but he kept it locked down. "He wouldn't. He's not like that. More likely, he was uncomfortable because I was looming over him like some sort of half-naked crazy person." She'd just kept looking at him. "After the first look, the only thing he was staring at was my eyes, so either he's got a pretty specific kink or you're flat out wrong."

"He's got a point," Sam said. "And from what he's said, Bucky's a lot bigger than Steve. It could be intimidating." Sam shot Bucky a sideways look. "Not that I'm saying I find you intimidating. Just that some people could."

It was a horrible thought, or it would have been if Bucky didn't know Sam was wrong. Steve was almost fundamentally incapable of being intimidated by anything and Bucky knew he'd never be intimidated by Bucky. Made uncomfortable? Sure. Feel pressured? Maybe, and that thought made him uneasy. Intimidated? Never. "Front all you want, Sam, I can tell you're fighting the urge to hide under the table right now."

Sam threw a balled up napkin at him.

"I like him." Clint dropped to sit at the table and put the pizza down in the middle. "Bucky was right, he's a good guy."

Conversation was put on hold while they grabbed slices of pizza, started eating, and shot looks of disgust at the nearly obscene noises Clint was making while he ate. "What?"

Natasha elbowed him. "If you and the pizza need to be alone you should leave the room."

Clint grinned at her and she rolled her eyes.

Sam watched them with a small smile, then turned to Bucky. "I'm only going to say this once, and then I'm going to leave it alone." Bucky put down his pizza. "You need to think about this. I mean really think about this. If you're in love with him and you're not going to say anything—"

"Which I'm not."

Sam nodded. "Which you're not, for reasons that are frankly questionable." Bucky frowned at him, but Sam gave him a look and Bucky let it go. "Can you really keep it up forever? Because that's what we're talking about here. This is a long term soul bond. There's no end in sight."

"He needs me and," he let out a long breath, but it wasn't anything they wouldn't already have figured out on their own, "hell, Sam, I need him, too. I'm not giving up the bond. I'm not sending him back to being sick."

Sam appeared to be choosing his words carefully as he said, "Someone else could take over. You know that's part of the contract. If you find the situation's something you can't handle, Shield will find a replacement. It doesn't have to be you."

"Over my dead body," Bucky said calmly. "Which reminds me, I need to talk to you guys about something."

Which was why there was now a document, filed with Shield, signed by all four of them, agreeing that one of them would take over the contract, would soul bond with Steve, if Bucky died or was no longer strong enough to hold Steve's bond. It was the BodyGuard equivalent of a will. Clint was the first choice, then Sam, then Natasha. She'd frowned, she'd huffed, but in the end, she'd agreed that she'd do it for Bucky.

It gave Bucky a deep well of peace knowing, whatever happened to him, there'd be someone he trusted who would share their strength with Steve.

Steve was waiting for Bucky, leaning up against the wall, playing with his phone, when he heard voices from the alley: one angry and one scared. He shoved his phone in his pocket and went to investigate.

There was a big guy with a smaller guy shoved up against the wall, fist pulled back to punch him. "Hey," Steve yelled. "Leave him alone!"

The big guy looked over his shoulder and sneered. "How about you fuck off and I don't do you next?"

Steve felt anger rise up in him, a stubborn fury that muscled its way past common sense and survival instincts, that squared his shoulders and curled his hands into fists. "How about you leave him the hell alone and learn not to be such an asshole?"

He dropped the guy he had pinned to a wall, who took his chance and darted away, running past Steve with a hurriedly whispered thanks, but his gratitude didn't extend to sticking around to help.

The big guy swaggered towards Steve. "How about you give me your wallet and your phone and do it now and I won't smash that pretty face of yours all over the pavement."

"I'm not giving you anything."

"That's a bad decision." The guy grinned nastily and pulled back to land a punch, but Steve slipped sideways to avoid it and punched the guy in the gut. It was solid, months of Bucky making him exercise giving him decent force behind it. The guy shook it off and slammed Steve against the wall. "And that was a bad move."

"It's really wasn't." Bucky's fist closed around the guy's shoulder, he heaved him away from Steve and sent him sprawling. The guy scrambled to his feet, looked between Bucky and Steve, and took off running. Bucky spun around, worried. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"He was, well, I guess he was mugging some guy in the alley, and I heard them."

Bucky's eyes closed and he appeared to be counting to ten. His eyes opened. "So you decided to offer yourself in his place?"

"Hey, I heard something, I couldn't just stand by."

"No, I guess you couldn't," Bucky said with a sigh. "Damn it, Steve, he could have hurt you." He started gently patting Steve down, running his hands over him. "He didn't, did he?"

"No." Steve was very aware of Bucky's hands on him, moving over his body. Bucky's worried eyes, looking into his. "You're a BodyGuard, not a bodyguard, you didn't have to do that."

Bucky paused, his hands splayed across Steve's ribs. "What do you mean, I didn't have to do that? Like I'd ever stand by and watch someone hurt you. Jesus, Steve."

His voice was angry and warm and protective and it triggered something, broke through the wall Steve kept around his love for Bucky, and as Bucky looked down at him Steve knew everything he was feeling was flooding his eyes.

Bucky's eyes went wide and Steve knew he saw it, knew he saw everything. His fingers curled against Steve's ribs. It was the gym all over again, only so much worse. "Steve." The way he said his name was so quiet, so intense, it sent a shiver down Steve's spine.

Steve swallowed and backed away, Bucky's hands sliding off his ribs. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, Bucky. I never meant to. If you want, I can ask Shield to find me another BodyGuard." His heart just about broke, saying it, but he had to give Bucky the choice.

"No! Steve, no. Don't say that. Don't ever say that."

It sent relief flooding through him. "Okay, I won't. But you can just ignore it, just pretend it's not there. You don't ever ever have to give me anything you don't want to."

Bucky's expression smoothed over and he was watching Steve, eyes intent. "What is it I don't have to give you?"

Steve shook his head and backed away another step.

"Steve. Tell me. What didn't you mean to do?"

He didn't answer, wasn't going to answer, but Bucky was looking at him and his eyes were filled with something warm and huge and he couldn't resist, he couldn't not answer. "Fall in love with you," he finally said in a small voice.

"You love me?" Bucky sounded shocked. "I didn't think, I mean I could see, I was hoping for you liking me, not—" He shook his head sharply, like he was trying to get himself back on track. "But you love me?"

"Yes. I didn't mean to but it happened, because you're you and I couldn't not, and I'm—"

Bucky held up a hand and Steve stopped talking. "I love you, too."

Steve stared at him in disbelief. "Really?"

Bucky nodded.

Steve kept staring at him, searching his face, then met his eyes again and slowly smiled, wide and bright. "You love me."

"I kind of thought I gave it away that day at the gym."

"No. No, I thought that was my fault."

"Your fault." Bucky ran his hands through his hair. "You thought it was...Okay, in the sense that you're irresistible and I love you, then yes, it was your fault."

Neither of them could look away from the other. The rest of the world had ceased to exist and they were wreathed in silence.  

"Why are we standing here staring at each other?" Bucky asked.

Steve shook his head and laughed shakily. "I don't know. I don't want to be, I want to be over there with you, but I can't seem to move. I've spent too long telling myself I can't have this."

"Me too."

"This is stupid." Steve's head came up and his eyes narrowed. "Count of three."

Bucky burst out laughing. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. One, two," his heart lurched in his chest, started to pound, "three." They moved at the same time, Bucky's hands catching Steve's face, holding it firmly, like he wasn't going to let Steve get away, as he bent his head to kiss him. Steve pressed his hands against Bucky's chest, fingers curling into his shirt as he leaned into the kiss, and he made a small, pleased noise in the back of his throat. As Bucky deepened the kiss he slipped his arms around Bucky's waist to drag him closer. When Bucky lifted his head he was grinning. Steve's eyes were gleaming.

Bucky ran his fingers through Steve's hair, let his hand settle at the back of his neck. "Count of three?"

"It worked, didn't it?"

He laughed softly, kissed Steve's forehead. "It's a good thing I already loved you."

Steve leaned up to kiss him again, one hand flat against the small of his back, and Bucky enthusiastically returned it. "It's a very good thing," he said when they finally broke apart, both slightly out of breath.

Bucky tipped his forehead to rest against Steve's, ran one hand slowly down his back and Steve felt it spread trails of warmth though his body, echoing the point of warmth that lived under his sternum. "When people ask how we finally got together?" Bucky said, smiling crookedly. "We're coming up with a better story than this."