fossilised | For Steve

For Steve

[It's been fourteen months, six weeks, and four days since the Soldier pulled Steve from the Potomac and ran from everything he had ever known. Since he had begun to realise which parts of the world he'd been fed were lies, but hadn't quite managed to pin down which were truths. He knows that Steve has been looking for him. Not just him, but his friends too, most of the Avengers have been roped into Steve's unceasing search.

They never find anything.

He's too good, he knows how to hide. He's seen them - Iron Man once, Falcon four times, Steve twice - but they've never seen him. He's a ghost, just rumours that dry up on the wind. He's not too sure if he wants to remain this way for the rest of his life, he knows he's not ready for anything else, and this feels almost comforting. Anonymous. But something in him has pulled him back to America. He hears on the news what's been happening with the Avengers, he sees that there's a new 'compound' that they're using as a base, though none of the news channels know where it is.

It doesn't matter, he finds it.

There's security systems, of course, but he bypasses them all. He slips close enough past Falcon that he can smell the aftershave he used, but he isn't noticed. He finds Steve's room, easy to tell it's his because of the shield inside the door and the way that the whole place is military precision. Not a habit easy to break even once the army is done with you. He isn't even sure why he's here, just that he's following the instincts of his mind at the moment.

He takes a seat on Steve's bed, cross legged, and he waits.]

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[He waits for a week at that address, unsure whether he wants Steve to show up looking for him or not. Nobody comes. But a letter does come back, the same loopy handwriting that he recognises from his youth, and he does recognise it now. Spending that afternoon with Steve on Coney Island had triggered a release of memories, and he's becoming more and more Bucky.

He's not sure that's a good thing.

The more he remembers, the more sure he is that he's never going to be that man again. Just because he remembers dancing and smiling, it doesn't mean he feels any more capable of it now. It doesn't erase the fear, it doesn't stop him from checking every safe house he stops in for traps, it doesn't make him less of a murderer.

It's another two months before the next letter arrives, this one addressed to a place out in Sydney, Australia.]

The first year I thought you were going to die, you were eleven. I remember watching you wheeze and I thought that I was about to lose my best friend, I promised God that he could have my life if he spared yours. Do you think that's what all of this was? I've been paying back a debt I accrued years ago?

The year your Mom died you got pneumonia again. I never told you, but that friend who was a doctor who treated you for free because he was my pal - I never met him before. I just told you that so you'd see him, because you'd never take my help if it was charity. I picked up three months of extra work at the docks to pay for him. It was worth it.

I was glad when you were rejected from the army. I didn't want you to die.

[He doesn't hold his breath waiting for the next letter, knowing that it was possible Bucky didn't even get his letter. He's able to breathe more easily, actually, knowing that Bucky is out there and remembering.

He keeps working, keeps writing in his journal, keeps seeing his therapist.

When the next letter arrives, he opens it with shaking hands.]

It's been a long time since I've been to church but if that was God asking you to pay off a debt, then you have more than earned a quiet life.

Back when I kept trying to enlist, I knew it was hurting you. But I couldn't let you go and risk your life without me. I always used general terms talking about it, but when I said guys were risking their lives, I meant you.

You absolutely helped me survive, I know that. But I think you needed me just as much, in a more subtle way. Everyone always thought you were a golden boy, you could do whatever you wanted and hang out with whoever you chose, but that was just your public face. Yeah, you were funny and kind and charming, but when it was just us I could see how you'd get stuck in your own head, stuck in dark thoughts.

I knew because it happened to me, too. And we kept each other out of it, as much as we could.

You got drafted, and the first thing I thought wasn't that I was scared you'd die, but that I was scared whatever it was that ate at you would get you, and you'd have no one to get you out again.

After I pulled you off Zola's table, I should have paid more attention. I tried, but there was more to focus on than I thought possible, and I took it on faith that when you said you were okay, that you were telling the truth. That you'd twll me if something was wrong.

Well, I was wrong. And I'm so sorry. I wonder, sometimes, how things would have been different if I'd sat you down and had a good talk once in a while. If maybe we could have figured out what had happened and been more careful trying to get Zola.

I have a lot of regrets. When I told you I couldn't let you go, that was why. I'm selfish. I'm always making it about me, and forgetting to listen. I'm doing that right now.

I hope you're well.

[Steve can't know it, but Bucky reads and rereads his letters so often that they get worn and crumpled, they start to fall apart at the edges and the ink smudges from being handled too often. It doesn't matter, he knows them off by heart. So strange to think of Steve feeling like he's responsible for any of this.

This time the return letter only takes two weeks, and it's marked from the Ukraine.]

Don't regret it. I wouldn't have talked to you even if you had asked.

I don't talk much now. It's better that way, there's too much that's better left unsaid. This is going to be my last letter, I have things I need to do. But I have to ask you something first.

Were we in love?

I remember wanting to kiss you, but I don't remember kissing you. Only dames. Am I remembering things wrong?

[It was a short letter, but it said all it needed to. Bucky would never have asked if he truly did remember, because men weren't supposed to like men that way back then, and he would never have wanted the inevitable rejection. But it wouldn't matter now, he'd probably never see Steve again anyway.]

[The letter shakes him.

It's a question he's never asked himself, because he never thought to ask it. Men weren't allowed to be in love with men, and Steve was Catholic, and...

Steve ends up thinking about it all day. Now that it's in his head, he can't stop thinking about it.

He writes maybe five drafts of his letters, all stream of consciousness, all abandoned partway through, until he finally finishes one.]

It wasn't allowed. It wasn't allowed, so I never let myself think it. Were we in love? I can't speak for you. You never told me, if you were. And I never let myself go down that line of thought.

But I was, even if I never admitted it to myself until today.

Maybe that's why I couldn't let you go, because I never admitted to myself what you really meant to me then.

You were everything. I loved you.

It feels strange to be realizing it now, after so long, but it's true.

And that love never went away, either. We've both changed, so much, and I'm sure that back in Brooklyn, even if I knew I still wouldn't say it. I would've thought you were too good to be dragged down by me. But I know better now. You aren't better, or worse, you're just you, and always have been, even through all the changes.

But now I can say it, and I need to say it.

I love you.

You survived a hell I can never imagine. You survived it, and are reclaiming yourself, and I love you. You are haunted by demons I may never understand, but you face them every day, and that takes a strength and courage I can only pretend to have, and I love you.

You will never be the same man as the kid from Brooklyn again. I know that. I love you.

I love you, whoever you decide to be, and whatever you decide to do.

I love you.

I'm taking time off from being Captain America for a while. Sam's going to give it a shot. If you want to find me, when you're done, I'll be taking a tour of Europe, to see all the art that was hidden away during the war, and everything new since then. Maybe I'll take some art classes. I don't know, I haven't really planned it out yet.

I hope I get to see you again.

Please, don't feel like you have to reciprocate. I know everything is hard right now. Whatever you feel, I want to see you, because whatever you feel, I love you anyway.

Maybe I'll see you in Paris. Or Rome. Or wherever.

Good luck.

I love you.

[He sends it off before he can chicken out and crumble this one up too.]

[In this one way, it was perhaps easier for Bucky to face his feelings. Losing his memories of what had been acceptable and what hadn't had left him without the prejudices against homosexuality. He had spent so long being denied any part of himself, that he no longer had the luxury of asking if the few parts he rediscovered were allowed or not. They were him, so they were allowed.

He had remembered loving Steve, he remembered wanting to kiss him, but he hadn't remembered doing more. It's why he had to ask. The outpouring in the letter he gets back isn't something that he's expecting at all and it takes the wind from his sails pretty effectively. He has to reread it several times over the span of a week to even take it in.

It thrills him.

It makes him furious. He can't go and do what he planned now, he can't walk away from that sort of message. He feels chained again, forced into a different path, one not of his choosing. It means that he doesn't go to Steve, not for a long time, he rages with himself again.

It's nearly four months later, while Steve is in Paris, that Bucky suddenly falls into step next to him as though he had been there all along. He's dressed in ratty jeans and an even rattier hoodie, hair unkempt and stubble almost becoming a beard.]

I guess you were right, it's not the end of the line after all.

[It is extremely difficult to go on vacation and really concentrate on it after sending a letter like that and not know how it was received. But Steve says his goodbyes and leaves, and after a couple of weeks he's able to reach a comfortable place inhis head. Whatever happens now, he got the words out there. He knows how he feels, and Bucky knows now too. Whatever happens next is up to Bucky, and Steve wants to leave that choice to him, so he just... lets it go.

With no idea how he's affected Bucky, Steve buries himself in art.

He takes more classes than he thought he would, just because he finds more than he thought he would. When he gets to Paris, he actually enrolls in art school, and he spends his days creating, and speaking French, and making friends, and living a totally different life.

It's wonderful, but he misses Bucky like a constant ache in his chest.

So when Bucky shows up on one of Steve's walks around the city, his heart swells and he beams, giddy in a way he never thought he could feel.]

I'm glad to hear that.

[A part of him is bursting with the question, wants to know what Bucky thinks, but Steve holds it back.]

It's good to see you.

[He's still walking like a predator, it's an edge he got from the Soldier that he'll likely never lose. He's sort of come to terms with that now, that the Soldier and Bucky are not two separate entities, they're both him. They're the experiences of his life; and just like he'll never be the man he was before the war again, he hopes never to be the Soldier again either.

He's something new.

But he's not sure how Steve will feel about that. He's not sure if he's here to try and stay or not, it all rests on how Steve reacts to the conversation that's coming. He's still not demonstrative, so there's no more than a slight shrug in response to being told he was missed.]

I might never remember everything, you know that?

[Diving right in.]

And even if I do, it won't change what I am now. I'm not good around people, I don't remember how to be a friend, I'm messed up.

[Steve does wish he could've just had a moment to enjoy Bucky's company before they got into things, but then again, he knows how important this is. Better to have everything up front than hide anything for later.]

I know. I accept that. That stuff... being good around people and knowing how to be a friend... you can practice that stuff. Get better at it, if you want. But if you don't, that's okay too. You get to make those decisions for yourself. I'll help, if you want.

[He takes a breath and shrugs.]

I'm pretty messed up too, you know. Not in the same way, I'm not trying to measure myself against you or anything, I'm just saying. We both have our problems we have to work through.

[It's selfish, perhaps, but he hasn't really given much thought to how messed up Steve might be. He's still the same brave and honourable person as before, he hides his pain better than Bucky does. Different experiences, different kind of pain, but he doesn't deny that Steve has issues.]

Okay.

[It's said with the gravity of someone making a huge decision, rather than the agreement that Steve has things to work through as well.]

I'll stay.

[For now. He's not promising forever, but he's willing to put in the effort and see if he can get back to a place of being able to be a good friend.]

[Making a big deal right now would just startle Bucky away. Steve knows that, but he can't help the way he just fills with an overwhelming joy when Bucky says that. Instead of grabbing Bucky up in a big hug the way he wants, Steve settles for smiling.]

Great. I'm just doing errands right now. Is there anything you want to do while we're out?

[He very deliberately doesn't ask if Steve is in contact with the Avengers, or if he plans to go back. He knows it might erode his decision to stick around.]

I need to go to my place and get my stuff.

[If he's staying with Steve, then he doesn't need his bolt hole any more.]

[Steve nods. He hadn't immediately jumped to thinking Bucky could move in, but now that it's implied, he's considering the logistics.]

Yeah, sure. My apartment is pretty small, but there's a room you can have, definitely.

[He doesn't want to make any assumptions about what Bucky might want, though.]

If it's not enough space we can look into getting a bigger place, or even find a place just for you if that's what you need.

[Even if he thinks he might come to feel the same way for Steve, he certainly isn't ready to be sharing his space when he sleeps yet.]

It'll be big enough, I don't have a lot.

[All of his belongings fit into one hold-all, and he sleeps either on a mattress if he can find one or in a random dark corner. He'll handle a small apartment.]

Great. You want to do that first?

[His stuff isn't all that important, it can wait. Truthfully, he's eager to get Bucky settled into his place. He hopes it'll make it... real. This is happening so quickly, he's half convinced it's a dream.]

[Bucky can barely believe it either, and there's still a large part of him ready to run at a moment's notice. But he nods.]

It's this way, stick close.

[He makes a sharp left down an alley and sets off at a run, literally climbing the side of a building so that he can parkour along the rooftops.]

[He can honestly say he wasn't expecting to parkour today, but Steve's super soldier reflexes kick in and he follows Bucky only a few steps behind.

It's refreshing, really. Steve doesn't get a lot of chances to flex his super solder muscles on his vacation from being Captain America, and while he's finding he doesn't miss it as much as he thought he would, he does miss the pure exertion.

Running like this, with Bucky, it feels good. It feels right. And Steve's wondering if he can convince Bucky to go running with him like this on the daily.]

[He doesn't question if Steve can keep up, because of course he can, he's the only other person in the world with the serum in his veins. It's not a particularly long run at the speed they both go, about twenty minutes, before Bucky is shimmying into the skylight of a clearly abandoned building.

In the corner of one dusty room, a huge warehouse floor in what used to be a packing factory, is a ratty old sleeping bag and a backpack full of stuff. He's not ashamed at how he lives, just bending down to start rolling up the sleeping bag.]

[Steve follows Bucky in and looks around, but doesn't say anything. It's... not ideal, of course, but it's out of the way, defensible, and it's better than living on the street.

Still, Steve's glad Bucky's moving in with him now. It'll be better than this.

And maybe it's not home yet, but it could be. Or maybe they'll move on in a week or a month and they'll find a new place.

The point is they'll be together, right? And that's better than being apart. It has to be.]

Need any help?

[He cants his head back to shoot Steve the tiniest amused smile.]

Pretty sure I can manage it, Steve.

[This isn't a large amount of stuff. It doesn't take him long to have the bag on his shoulder and the sleeping bag under his arm.]

Show me where you're staying.

[It's a formality. He already knows, he's been stalking Steve for days before making himself known.]

[That smile just shoots right through Steve, and he's stunned for a moment. All he can really do is smile back, like a big old dope. But by the time Bucky's ready, Steve's recovered. He takes a breath and nods, though he manages a wry smile back.]

You've probably already scoped it out, huh.

[Regardless, he starts on his way. It's a nice walk, on a nice day, and god everything just feels really good right now. Steve clings to the feeling, though there's a sneaking thought in the back of his head that says this all could fall apart in a second. It has before. It could again.

But for now, he can afford to be optimistic. Right?]

Anything you want to do while we're in Paris?

[Steve is amazing, and a total idiot.

Only he would ask if there was anything Bucky might want to do, like they were just any old tourists, as if they hadn't been running and fighting for the last few decades. It's just another mark of how resilient Steve can be in pretty much all matters that are important to him. It's comforting that it hasn't changed, not even in the face of everything that's happened.]

I want a bath.

[He snaps his teeth shut as soon as the words are out and a brief look of fear passes over his face as if he expects punishment, before he schools himself back to normal.]

Forget it.

[The answer surprises him, and his head whips around to look at Bucky with a big grin, which fades when he sees how Bucky reacts to his own words.

Steve slows to a stop and reaches out as if to grab Bucky, but he doesn't connect, and lets his arm drop.]

Hey, Buck. It's alright. You can have a bath if you want. I've got a great bath in the apartment, you can take as many baths as you want.

[He's still tense, eyes darting left and right as if looking for the direction that the punishment will come from, and he can't seem to stop it.]

I said forget it, Steve, I didn't say anything.

[Steve takes a deep breath. He wants to help. He wants to help so badly, but he doesn't know how. So he just nods.]

Okay. Okay. It's... not a big deal, we'll figure it out later.

[He does his best to keep his voice light and even. There's no problem here, Bucky. No punishment. Not now, not ever again.]

You just let me know what you need, okay? In your own time.

[He starts walking again, his hands shoved in his pockets to keep from reaching out to Bucky again.]

[He falls into step silently beside Steve and, even though he's still tense as a bowstring, he starts to feel like an idiot. Maybe he's rushed into this too soon? Maybe he's still not ready to be around people if he can't voice a simple want like a goddamn bath?

He swallows hard, Adam's apple riding up and down his throat nervously.]

Sorry.

[Shit, he's already messing his up.]

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