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Steve didn’t think twice when he walked into his apartment and found Bucky standing at his stove wrapped in the ruffled apron that Nat had given him three apartments ago and that he hadn’t even realized he still owned. Toeing off his shoes, he dropped his keys and wallet into their designated bowl by the door. “Hey, Buck. Smell great,” Steve said as he walked past as though this was something he encountered everyday.
The lack of response didn’t faze him as Steve entered the bathroom and began to strip. It wasn’t until he was halfway through lathering his hair with shampoo that the wrongness of the entire situation hit him, and Steve practically ripped the shower door off its hinges and put a hole in a wall when he slipped in his rush to exit the bathroom. Heedless of his nudity and the suds dripping down his face, Steve found himself blinking stupidly at the sight before him, his brain unable to process the image before him.
This was Bucky, hair short and well groomed, face free of the lines and the tensions that the war had brought him. As Bucky moved to ladle soup into a bowl, Steve found himself shaking his head wildly. This was wrong.
Maybe he’d said it aloud because between one blink and the next Bucky was standing in front on Steve. This close Bucky seemed fuzzy around the edges, and Steve’s hand shot out, fingers wrapping around Bucky’s wrist.
Bucky’s metal wrist.
Looking down, he saw unmarred flesh, a sharp contrast to the warm smoothness of metal plating beneath his fingers. And will that realization, his brain overcame the illusion, the glamour shattering to reveal the Bucky’s gaunt face, his hair still long and his stubble more than a few days old.
“Chimera,” Steve murmured aloud in amazement, everything suddenly falling into place. The way on their first meeting on the bridge that Steve hadn’t seemed to notice Bucky’s metal arm, the way that he easily blended into the crowd and disappeared despite the best surveillance available searching for him.
Neither of their parents had had any strong presentations, and neither of them been the lucky recipient of traits that skipped generations but appeared again stronger than ever. There had been no fangs or scales or feathers like some of their classmates. No outward signs or obvious displays of power, no affinity to fire or water, no draw to the shadow or animals.
Steve and Bucky, as kids they’d like to pretend though, that they were Unseelie or trolls, banshees or orcs, emulating whatever had struck their fancy that week. At least until they were punished for being rude. (After that they were more careful of their play.)
Steve’s own bloodlines hadn’t presented itself until the serum had pulled it to the surface and even then, he hadn’t known at the time how much was him and how much was the serum.
“It’s all you,” Dr. Erskine had told him when Steve had asked.
Steve had scoffed, not believing it at the time, not just because of the physical changes, but also because of his sudden affinity to fire, a discovery that almost burnt down the base before he pulled it back.
(Steve would believe it the first time he died and found himself waking up in a morgue, not an experience he ever wanted to repeat again. Out of all the possibilities, all the speculation—salamander or efreet, maybe even dragons who were notorious for not breeding outside of their kind— not once had the thought that he was a phoenix crossed his mind. Rebirth was a trait thought to be long lost, but it was more likely that it was kept carefully hidden for obvious reasons.)
Bucky had always been charismatic, drawing both dames and blokes to him with an ease Steve could never hope to emulation. HYDRA must have given Bucky some sort of bastardization of the—
Bucky suddenly shoved him, breaking Steve out of his musing. Standing in the puddle that he’d dripped on the wood floor, Steve’s feet went out from under him and with Steve’s hand still firmly wrapped around Bucky’s wrist, Bucky went down with him, landing hard enough on Steve’s chest to leave him winded.
When Bucky didn’t automatically try to pull away, Steve pushed away the hair that hid Bucky’s face from him where it rested on Steve’s chest. Finding Bucky’s eyes closed, Steve was worried at his sudden apparently boneless state until Bucky murmured so quietly it was nearly inaudible.
“So warm.”
Steve had always run hot since the serum, steaming when he went outside in the winter. Suddenly Steve could see the deep bruises beneath Bucky’s eyes. How long has it been since he slept? Steve wondered, throat abruptly tight. It was no small feat, to haul both himself and Bucky up off the floor, especially when Bucky didn’t seem to want to let loose the grip he had on Steve’s shoulders. Falling into bed was easier, but still Bucky didn’t let him go.
Maybe Steve should have found his nakedness awkward, but a person can’t live with a bloke for years and then go to war with him without losing a good bit of modestly. In the face of fact that Bucky was here, alive, had seemingly sought him out on his own accord after nearly a year of being nowhere to be found, it was not the most pressing issue. Now Steve found himself with far more questions that he’d had before.
Steve had read the sparse file that Nat had given him on the Winter Soldier, had occasionally found more in the HYDRA bases and safehouses that he and Sam and occasional Nat had taken out. While what he’d found might not have been much, the picture it painted had made Steve sick on more than one occasion. Bucky’s blood had been perfect for HYDRA’s cause, chimera’s being natural mimics, easily able to adapt and blend in, and they’d manipulated it with horrifying results. Steve had razed more than one base with his fire in fury.
Of all the ways that they’d meet again, Bucky being the one to seek him out had been a dream, but not one that Steve had ever considered with any sort of seriousness. He let himself run his hand carefully over Bucky’s hair, humbled by the trust that Bucky had in him to let himself relax like this in his presence. He didn’t want to sleep because he was certain that if he did Bucky would be gone when he awoke and this would all seem a dream, but the call of it could not be denied.
When Steve awoke it was to a weight on his chest. Frowning his discomfort at his scratchy scalp, he raised a hand and found his hair crusty with dried shampoo, having completely forgotten about it. Opening his eyes, he was rewarded with Bucky’s own staring at from his place on Steve’s chest.
Steve watched as he tensed, watched as his eyes almost seemed to swirl, and Steve could feel the pull of it, the mask that Bucky wanted him to see. Steve closed his eyes against it, knowing that it wouldn’t stop it if Bucky truly wanted to hide, but he didn’t want to see it. “Please don’t,” he pleaded softly.
Steve could practically feel Bucky’s indecision, and it wasn’t until Bucky sat up, that Steve allowed his eyes to open. It was the same tired and gaunt Bucky; he wasn’t hiding, which was a relief . “Not that I’m complaining, but why are you here? Why now?”
Moving so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor and back to Steve, Bucky took a long time answer, finally saying. “I needed… time. I wasn’t safe. I’m still not safe.”
Protective instincts flaring, Steve declared, “They’d have to go through me first.”
With a shake of his head, Bucky scoffed. “No. That’s the opposite of what I want. I mean, it’s not safe for you to be around me, but I’m weak.” Bucky turned, his eyes landing on Steve’s bare form.
Steve knew what he was seeing the almost healed scars of the bullets that Bucky had put in him on their last meeting. “It was HYDRA.”
“I’m HYDRA,” Bucky snapped.
“No,” Steve said, shaking his head as he sat up, reaching out to carefully press his hand against where he knew the seam where metal met ruined flesh beneath Bucky’s clothes was. “You were a tool that HYDRA crafted in their image.”
Bucky laughed, an ugly choked sound. “It was still my hands, Steve. Without the wipes, the programing is breaking down; I remember all the deaths.” He stood, suddenly furious. “I can’t remember if I liked my coffee with sugar or cream. I can’t even remember my mother’s face. They took everything from me!”
Chest tightening, Steve fought the urge to cry. It was the last thing Bucky needed. When he spoke, he could hear the thickness in this throat. “You used to say you liked it black, but when we could afford cream and sugar, you’d indulge. I’ll find a picture of your mother for you. You don’t have to do this alone, Buck. Whatever you need, I’ll try my damnedest to make it happen. Please don’t run anymore.” Voice cracking at the last words, a plea he hadn’t meant to say, Steve closed his eyes against the flood of tears that threatened to fall. It was a selfish request, but Steve would feel better knowing where Bucky was instead of constantly worrying.
Bucky leaned against the hand still on his back, Steve’s eyes opening as Bucky said, “I can’t promise that I won’t run sometimes, but for now, I’m where I want to be.”
The sudden tension under his hand told Steve that Bucky had admitted to more than he wanted, and Steve couldn’t help but wonder how hard it was for Bucky to not hide away even here with him. “Come on,” Steve said, climbing out of bed and tugging Bucky up as well. “I could use a shower, and you’re no spring flower yourself.”
The laugh that escaped Bucky seemed to startle him as his eyes drifted up to Steve’s hair.
Steve didn’t let his eyes linger as Bucky stripped, but he couldn’t miss the scars that covered his body, the heavy tightness in his chest increasing as more of the HYDRA’s cruelty was revealed.
As they stepped under the spray, Steve held up a bottle of shampoo for Bucky’s inspection. “May I?” Steve asked.
Instead of answering, Bucky dropped his head under the flow of water, soaking his hair as he turned his back to Steve.
Squeezing a bit of it in his hand, Steve worked it into a lather in Bucky’s hair, massaging his scalp, and running his fingers though the length of his hair for long minutes. Certainly longer than required, but Bucky didn’t complain, all by melting at the attention. Finally realizing he’d delayed long enough, Steve eased Bucky back under the spray and carefully rinsed the suds from his hair, being sure not to miss any.
Steve didn’t recognize the look in Bucky’s eyes when he opened them, but there was a weight to the stare. When Bucky pressed his lips against Steve’s it was hesitant, asking permission, permission that Steve readily gave because whatever Bucky needed, he’d move the world to make it happen.
Bucky suddenly let out a sob against Steve’s lips and dropped his head to Steve’s shoulder, squeezing his painfully tight.
Ignoring the pain, Steve returning the embrace, pressing his cheek against the side of Bucky’s head, allowing his own tears to fall. Steve didn’t let himself think about what if; this was enough for now.
Falling apart together and taking comfort in each other, neither man cared enough to to notice when the hot water eventually ran out, the cold water steaming where it met Steve’s skin.