fossilised | For Steve

Steve didn't read into the presence of two bedrooms. It made sense and in a way, made him feel better. He wasn't afraid of Bucky hurting him again, but he was afraid for his own propensity. He became suddenly very well aware of some of the things he had said to Bucky recently and he sighed as he returned back to the stoic man guarding the door.

The embarrassment left him in favor of being afraid of Bucky's sudden slide backward.

"Can we talk? It's all right if you don't want to but I need to understand what's going on here." And maybe get dressed but with his arm the way it was, he was a little afraid to try.

The medication wouldn't last forever and the ache in his bones was already back.

Bucky didn't have any medication that might take the edge off the pain for Steve, but he could go and fetch something if it became necessary. Hopefully, now that the arm was in a long cast and the bones set, it might not be quite so unbearable as long as Steve took it easy and didn't jar it too much.

"--you can ask questions."

It was the best he could do. It wasn't that he didn't want to volunteer information for Steve, perhaps he would be the only one that Bucky would feel comfortable with, but he couldn't do it without prompts. He just wasn't sure where to begin, what was relevant and what wasn't.

He slipped down and sat against the door on the floor, ready if Steve wanted to question him.

The... Floor. Okay. Steve couldn't really get down on the floor right now since he didn't thing he could get up, so be just dragged one of the chairs over. He was glad that this place came at least partially furnished, though they were going to need some bedding and pillows and some dishes and pans too.

But that would be for later.

Little Steve sat with his knees together, he wasn't wearing much after all, on the chair. He leaned forward with his good arm, propping himself up against his knee. None of these questions would be easy so he went with the most need to know.

"Tell me why he's hunting you. You escaped... Whatever they made you, right? Tell me how you did that." Bucky's bullet points were factual at least. He listened at the blunt remarks of how they had fought on an airship over the river. How Steve fell and Bucky saved him before running.

Steve's cheeks were pink with delight.

It was a good story. A really good story.

"So now... How did you end up here? Where did you go, after you saved him?"

Strangely enough, Bucky's minimalist way of speaking seemed to tell the story better than full descriptors, just enough to let Steve see himself in the action and emotion of the whole thing before it was over with. He remembered that acutely, at least, he hadn't been wiped since then and he had no trouble making new memories.

"I went underground for a few weeks, hid, in case HYDRA were looking for me. Watched the news, saw what happened with SHIELD. Found the Smithsonian, it was a little segment at the end of the news, mentioning a theft of a costume from the Captain America exhibit. I went, saw-- there's a whole stand on Bucky Barnes. I was just leaving when I found myself here."

He scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Don't know how, just went black all of a sudden then I was here. And nobody knew where I was."

And wasn't that the crux of why he feared the other Steve? He was a connection to that life, that world, that sought him out so cruelly.

"I think, and since I'm talking about myself here, that if you told him that, he'd let you alone. He said he failed you... And I know how that feels." Bucky was dead because he had failed him. Then again, Bucky would never be tortured to the extent this man had been tortured for the same reason. It was almost too complicated and Steve's heart wasn't in really sitting down to think about what he did or could have done differently. Not yet.

He didn't let Bucky dwell on it either.

Instead, he switched topics to something a little more gruesome. "It.. What do you remember about your time with the Soviets? You have such terrible nightmares, Buck. Stuff that makes you react really violently... The guys at the barrack, you thought that they were attacking you... Last night? I think you thought I was one of your handlers. I need to know what to do if that happens again.You keep speaking in Russian and I don't understand it. I need to learn."

He didn't want to risk it. Part of him thought that once he was face to face with Steve, any Steve, that he'd have trouble turning his back again. He was inexorably drawn to Steve Rogers like a moth to a flame, as if nothing else in his life would ever matter as much.

"You want to learn Russian?"

Bucky really didn't like the idea of Steve learning that language, turning himself into one of his handlers properly. "I can tell you what I remember, it's not everything. Is that okay?" Now was the right time to ask, now when he didn't have the emotional resonance by the surface to feel the full trauma of what had been done to him. Another six months, another year, and he would never be able to speak about it for fear that it would break him. Now, it would be almost like a mission report, uncomfortable but achievable.

Steve did not want to learn Russian but he thought that it was necessary, if only to figure out what to do when Bucky was catatonic and mumbling. He had no intention of being another handler. Not ever. Ruling Bucky was not his goal. It would ruin them both for each other.

Steve eased back against the chair, trying to explain why it was important for him to know the things Bucky said. "You scared me last night. Not because-- it wasn't that. My arm was an accident. But you wouldn't respond to me at all. I didn't know how to bring you back from that. Maybe you couldn't understand me either..."

He rubbed his knuckles against his eyelids. His eyes itched from previously shed tears and entirely too much worry at what the next few days might bring to them both.

Bucky looked so vulnerable sitting there. He looked so lost, even if his eyes were hard and unrelenting. Steve didn't know how to fix that at first, but at least Bucky offered to tell him what happened to him. Steve didn't know if he should pry and he wasn't sure how he'd handle it. But this was important.

"Anything you want to tell me is safe and will stay with me and only me," he stressed.

Bucky drew his legs up so that his knees were against his chest, his arms loose over them, the metal one still hidden beneath his jacket and the gloves he wore almost constantly now. It was difficult with Steve saying such ambiguous things like 'anything you want', it was so much harder for him to pick through than a direct order. But a part of him understood that Steve wasn't going to order him no matter how long he waited, and so he needed to try and move past it.

He could behave as though it were an order.

That was easier, because in his head he could hear it as a mission report request. It allowed him to detach from the situation and talk about it as though he were clinically describing someone else, voice level and calm. Though his hands began to tremble more and more as he continued, something he didn't notice.

He told Steve about all the ways he remembered to break a man. About the waterboarding, the rape, the beatings. About being flayed, burned, frozen, cut. About being starved and dehydrated, being drugged, being conditioned. About the trigger words, though not what they were, and about how he had been taught unequivocally to be less than human. The Asset. The Soldier.

It was truly amazing how desensitizing it was to listen the longer Bucky spoke. He wasn't holding anything back, giving enough, clinical detail for Steve's mind to fill in the rest. Though there had initially been outrage and then sorrow, Steve's face settled into a flatness that was reminiscent of police or soldiers. If a man who saw and heard these things could not distance himself from them, there would never be a time when he could fully and surely so his job.

The rape was what really got to Steve. Here he had been admitting his less than platonic feelings for a man who had already been brutalized by other men. Sometimes for training. Sometimes just because they controlled the strings and wanted to enjoy themselves.

He had to be done with that. He could not bring it up again and he needed to get help for it. Immediately.

Steve looked exhausted when Bucky stopped speaking and let his good hand fall out of his lap before he stood. "Nothing like... That will never happen to you again. Neither of us would ever allow it. I don't.... I don't know how to fix you. But I'm going to figure it out. Because you're a person, all right? And no one deserves to be what you were."

By the time he had finished literally four hours had gone by and his hands were trembling so hard that they seemed almost to be vibrating. But his expression remained calm, his voice remained level, and his eyes remained that hollow stare that he had given to Steve ever since his return.

"I don't know if I can be fixed."

That wasn't meant to be depressed or self defeating, it was more just an honest concern. He had come a long way already from what he had been, but truly being completely fixed seemed like something far beyond his reach.

"It doesn't matter, I just want to be free. I don't want to kill, and I want to keep you safe, the rest of it isn't important."

"It's important to me," Steve insisted, eyes softening as he blinked. He saw that tremble and while he would have normally crawled over there to offer a hug, that would not be happening again until he could control himself. He was sick and he didn't need to give that to Bucky or contaminate him in anyway. He did, however, move from the chair to the floor, not close enough so that they could touch but there if Bucky needed him.

Right now, Steve was just a mission. Keep him safe. Stay free. These were objectives. They were expressed coldly, stoically.

His head touched the wall beneath the window beside the door and he tilted his face up to Bucky.

"We are safe here," he said, unsure of how he felt about the other Steve's sudden intrusion. "There's no one really after you. Steve won't take you anywhere if you don't want him to. I know you're worried about it. But I know myself."

Bucky had no idea what was going through Steve's mind when it came to him, especially not about his sexual attraction and what it might do to Bucky after he had been abused so soundly for so many years. He just knew that Steve was keeping his distance where he hadn't been before, and that caused a furrow to appear between his brows.

"He followed me, other people could have too. They might. I had to run before, hide, I didn't think I had to here."

Why would he? HYDRA of this time would have no idea who Bucky Barnes was and who he was meant to become, the Soviets had no notion that they were to create a Soldier, and SHIELD didn't even exist. He had the chance to exist somewhat peacefully, but Steve had shattered all that by showing up.

"I just want to be left alone."

Not from him, this Steve, but from everyone else.

It was actually a fear that Steve hadnt thought about. Someone could have ridden on the coat tails of Captain America an if that was true, they had the means to capture Bucky and take him from Steve. There was a current of fear that ran straight through Steve as he stared at Bucky.

"Then we can't stay," he said immediately. "No where close. He was tracking me. I... Bucky, if it's safer for you to go on without me, you should. I don't know what else to do." Other than give up himself and change identities. But how? They didn't have unlimited resources. Steve was almost literally dirt poor and he didn't have a single source of income that wasn't from the government.

He pressed his hand to his face.

"I've done this to you. Buck, maybe the problem has always been me." He never went down this path, he never was this sad and alone and willing to brow beat himself because everyone else did it for him. But he'd never imagined his friend so tortured for so long before either and that could change someone's outlook on life. "I need you to be safe," he said, his voice finally breaking. There was too much emotion in his head and his heart for this conversation but if Bucky needed to go, Steve wouldn't cling on.

The problem had never been Steve, why would he think that? Even the one from the future, it wasn't exactly Steve that was the issue, it was what he represented and what might have followed him here. It was having to face up to all that had been done to him and realise that he might be a little bit more broken than could ever actually be put back together again.

"Why are you saying this?" He didn't understand it, what had he done to break a spirit that he had previous thought of as indomitable? It wasn't right, wasn't fair. "Why are you blaming yourself? I didn't blame you."

How could any of this be Steve's fault? He had never even known Bucky was alive, and as soon as he had then he had broken him free of his programming. And then this Steve had tried to look out for him, both of the Steves had.

What could he do for Bucky? Steve n get gave up and he certainly wasn't going to give up now, but it in was his head that there was only one problem and one factor that kept making Bucky's life difficult for him and that was him. He wasn't so foolish as to believe himself above all of that and he was trying to help in the only way he knew how.

By being selfless.

Funny how selflessness always amounted to selfishness though? The corners of Steve's lips trembled. "I know you didn't, pal. I'm trying to think big picture here. I'm going to slow you down. I'm going to be a way for them to track you." He was a liability. He hated to think of it that way but it was true.

Steve closed his eyes and bowed his head.

"I know there's always something more a person can do, and that looking backward doesn't give you insight into what's coming all the time but I can't just sit here and not tell you what I think just because I'm scared you'll leave. You need to have all of the options. All of them. Even the ones that don't include me."

Steve had the weakest body and the strongest will of anyone alive. Past or present or future.

"We have to come up with a way to make sure you keep your freedom. And that means looking at all the options."

Bucky still didn't want an awful lot for himself. He didn't ask for a roof over his head or regular food, he didn't ask for health or happiness, all he wanted was freedom and Steve. It seemed, therefore, the height of cruelty that Steve should suggest he might be better off away even if there were logical reasons behind it.

A low almost growl escaped Bucky's throat and he surged to his feet in one graceful movement, like a predatory big cat that had spotted prey. He grasped Steve by the shoulders, cautious of his broken arm, and manoeuvred him up to his feet too to press him back against the wall. Close, bodies near enough flush, and deep blue eyes meeting much more vivid ones intensely.

"It's not an option."

For once he was giving the orders, but he needed Steve to understand.

"You're the anchor that keeps me human and the reason to stay free. I don't want to run alone any more, I don't want to leave you behind. I don't even remember you, most of you, and I don't know why... but I need you. I'm not letting you go."

There were two things running congruently through Steve’ mind as he found himself standing on his toes between the wall and a wad of impossibly solid muscle. Firstly, he wondered if he was about to have Bucky lose himself or try to intimidate him. It would make sense if either happened. Bucky mentioned a trigger and Steve didn’t know what it was and might have managed it without realizing. He had only himself to blame for that. Bucky, he knew, would never raise a hand to him in anger and would never intentionally hurt him. That made the gentle way he lifted him a bit suspect to that particular theory. If Bucky was being gentle now, he’d continue to be.

With fear ruled out almost immediately, Steve tried to do the same with the flash of desire he felt racing up his spine. He told himself that the adrenaline he was feeling was the fight or flight response, that he was amped up and needing a release of energy, even if the reason was not entirely the truth.

"I don't want you to let me go." Steve watched Bucky's face, eyes wide and confused by the betrayal of his body. He shook, no. Trembled. And that was so much worse and came with so much more baggage. What was he supposed to do to fix this?

Steve swallowed and looked up at Bucky.

“I want you help you remember,” he replied, trying to be calm. It didn’t quite work. “Or if you can’t… You can get to know me again.” He would not again suggest that Bucky leave him. Not even for his own good.

That's what he wanted too. An understanding that even if he couldn't remember, even if those pieces of himself stayed buried forever, that he would be allowed to stay and build new memories. Maybe he'd even learn to smile again one day. Maybe even laugh. He sagged in relief, bending so his forehead briefly touched Steve's.

"Good."

That was settled then, he would stay and they would figure out how to do this together, wherever that turned out to be.

"We have to stay around this area, Erskine's research..."

He knew it was important to Steve to become Captain America. Maybe not for the muscles or the strength or even the health, but because it was his ticket to helping other people in the way he had always dreamed of. For however much he wanted Steve, Bucky didn't want to be responsible for destroying his dreams.

The sudden dip of Bucky's face towards his own left Steve in a tizzy. His heart rate spiked and his pupils were blown wide open as he waited for something that, logically, would never happen even if Steve's illicit fantasy was suddenly called full into question. Bucky was going to miss him. Bucky was going to kiss him!

But it didn't happen. Their foreheads touched instead and Steve felt the chill of it all slide down his back the opposite direction it had come up from. He dropped himself to his heels and let out an exasperated huff. He was angry with himself. He was disgusted by his own mind. He needed to do better.

"Erskine's research doesn't matter to me," Steve said, which wasn't quite true but he was wit so very flustered. "I mean-- it's not... Maybe I should make sure... I could handle you better if I was like him, right? Keep you safer...? My neck will be so thick." He didn't expect Bucky to laugh but he needed to break the tension here.

He didn't laugh, but something slightly softer appeared in his eyes. If they remained together for very long, Steve would start to recognise the subtle shifts between micro-expressions until even the tiniest widening of his eyes might seem akin to terror or the most minute twitch of his lips to be full blown laughter.

"It does matter to you. You're a hero."

Not that he wants to be a hero, that he is a hero.

"You've always been a hero, I know that even if I can't remember, and it's important to you to get the body to help you do what you've always wanted to do. It's not enough just to protect me, Steve, you want to protect the world."

"You've been my world for as long as I've known you," Steve blurted out they were still in too close proximity for him to do much of anything but say exactly what was on his mind, though he needed to clamp on down on that and figure out a way to slide out from between Bucky and the wall.

He was only in a hospital gown. It was not doing a lot to hide some reactions.

"But... Uh yeah. Right now, the only thing I want to champion is something for dinner." His smile was crooked, and kind, and sweet and horribly embarrassed. "And maybe some pants. My bag is in my room?"

The more layers of clothing, the better.

"You're still attracted to me."

Bucky's observation was sudden and definitely didn't make him move away. If anything, it made him more curious, for who could find a weapon attractive? Even after Steve had heard everything about him, about how he had been defiled and tortured, he still thought that his friend was arousing to be around.

He ducked his head further and tested it out, not really thinking about it, brushing his lips up against Steve's. No real passion behind it, but oddly gentle as if he wanted to be sure that Steve knew he wouldn't harm him.

Steve flattened his face into his chin, nose wrinkling. Why was this something that kept coming up? He knew he was terrible at hiding it but Bucky really needed to learn not to call attention to these things. Steve was doing his best here. It was a little new to him. He was sure that if the other Bucky had known, and maybe he did, he would just ignore it and let Steve keep his dignity.

But no. Huffing, Steve swallowed a rise of bile back down where it belonged, his fingertips lightly pressing back against the wall, poised perhaps to help him duck away from the other man.

He tried a shallow laugh. "Buck-- I'm sorry. I'm trying not to be. I'm really trying to stop it, I know it's inappropriate and considering what you went through, I completely understand if--" Soft lips cut him off, but not in words.

It didn't matter if there wasn't passion in that soft kiss because it was better than what Steve had imagined kissing would be lip. It tingled in all of the best way, stealing his breath and causing his eyes to close. His body might have stiffened, but that was only because he didn't know what to do. In movies, there was a lot of arm movements and head tilts. He'd seen Bucky kiss girls a few times, but only on the cheek. No girl would ever let herself be kissed in public any other way.

Steve's eyebrows furrowed as Bucky pulled back.

"I'm sorry," he whispered immediately, hand covering his lips to keep the illicit warmth there.

Steve tasted of mint and asthma cigarettes, a weird blend of herbal and medicinal tastes, with an underlying warmth that seemed all him. It hit Bucky like a fist directly to the solar plexus and, even if he had never tasted it before to feel familiar, it still dislodged some memories from wherever they had been hiding in his head.

"You bought my first pair of boxing gloves for when I wanted to go pro. You spent your food money on it that week, thought I wouldn't notice you eating ketchup packets from the diner."

His words were soft, before he bent again to capture Steve's lips more insistently. If he had heard the apology or the excuses then they didn't register with him. He didn't want to trap Steve, and definitely not force him, but he was not making it that easy to get away.

It was strange to hear that as a response. One didn't normally tell an apologizing man about the time he'd been gifted gloves. Steve's eyes had softened as he spoke and his lips had parted ever so slightly because he had been about to mention that he hadn't just been eating ketchup packets but also honey and grape jelly which, if you asked him, did make an interesting and filling meal. He would have followed thst up with saying that Bucky had needed those gloves because his own were ratty and no amount of wrapping up his hands would have saved him in the ring without the right equipment. He'd get two punches in and break a wrist, ending his career. He might even have mentioned that he was so happy to hear he remembered something, but speaking when there were insistent lips against your own was not as effective as having to only worry about one pair.

This was insanity, he thought to himself before his thoughts dissolved away. How the heck was this even happening? God was going to strike them down!

Or worse, he might get some strange idea that kissing Bucky was unlocking his memories. Steve didn't want to think of himself as some fairytale princess. And he absolutely did not want to think of Bucky Barnes as Sleeping Beauty or Snow White, waiting for a kiss to stir them from their slumber.

His hand finally gripped Bucky's arm, the metal one, and slipped up to his shoulder. Steve exhaled through his nose and breathed Bucky in, sweat and determination and strength. He countered it with the utmost sweetness and would continue to do so until this hazy, beautiful dream ended.

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gdi I thought this posted...

Re: gdi I thought this posted...

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