[ Bucky recognises the look on his face, understands immediately what the intention behind this meeting is. Steve hates being lied to, always did -- and Bucky had steadfastly kept the truth from his younger self; had lied to him because the alternative is so much worse than he can bear. Steve has carried the guilt for too long, he refuses to let him shoulder it for longer.
And selfishly? Selfishly, he wanted to be something resembling happy, just for a little while. Steve's younger self had given him those precious days, wholly undeserved for a creature like him, but he holds on to them like a light in the darkness. ]
I liked it too. [ He admits. Then, wryly. ] I haven't seen you that happy in a long time. [ And he would lie to him again and again just to preserve that. ]
[ That much he understands, but it had never been about his own happiness. Maybe none of it had, though his own selfishness had brought them to this point in ways he couldn't even begin to explain. Steve takes responsibility for all of it, carries it quietly and without even considering those who might be there to help him with it. He'd never ask Bucky for it, could never bring himself to tear apart what little he's rebuilt for himself here. ] But it's... I'm not that guy anymore, Buck. Everything that was left of him was put aside a long time ago. [ And then, quieter: ] I want you to know that.
[ Because he doesn't blame him for lying, not really. Still, it pulls and scratches just beneath the surface in a way he doesn't know how to address, and when he meets Bucky's eyes, all he can do is just steadily stare at him. ]
[ Bucky meets his eyes steadily. They are both very different men now, but what the mind forgets, the heart remembers. He remembers how he loved him, inseparable on the playground and battlefield -- and he knows it to his bones even now. They are tethered to each other, for better or worse. ]
The man that you were shouldn't have to know me as I am now. I'm not his Bucky.
[ Steve's expression narrows, swallowing around the retort that threatens to fall out just as quickly as Bucky speaks. Whether it's true or not, he doesn't believe it. He can't. Not after what he's done to him and what he still continues to do. ]
I have just as much right to know you now as I knew you then. What's important isn't any different, and that's never gonna change. [ Together until the end, wherever that might be. ] If we can't trust each other, what else do we have? [ It shouldn't matter, and maybe, in some small way, it doesn't. Yet, Steve can't let go of it, stubbornly stands there and looks him in the eye as if he's daring him to think of something else, anything else, that could tie them so strongly together. ]
[ A point-blank question. Steve is not going to back down, not today, but Bucky wants to know. Bucky understands this more than anything else, that trust is important -- even so, can't Steve trust that he's doing this with his well-being in mind? How will knowing what's happened change anything? Because Bucky damn well wouldn't do anything differently. ]
[ It takes him a moment to process the question, sliding his arms over his chest as if disapproving of the very thing that Steve has cornered himself into being asked, but it doesn't take much longer than that to answer, fully and honestly and without hesitation. ]
You are. [ A half quirk of his mouth, and the smile, though there, is sad. ] Thought you'd have figured that one out by now. [ Even after every dead end or empty mission, he'd continued to look for him. He'd never given up like he had that cold day in the mountains, and this is where they are, where they stand. Steve could list the individual traits - his bravery, his tenacity, the charm that's still beneath years of HYDRA's influence, the tenderness that reaches out even now - but it encompasses all of him, everything that Steve would never doubt regardless of what version stood in front of him. ]
[ Steve's sad, gentle smile makes his heart ache -- what a difference it was between the man then and now, what a world he takes onto his shoulders.
Bucky knows what's important to Steve -- a part of him had always known because he feels the same. Steve is his lifeline in this time, in this world, one person he doesn't deserve. Bucky reaches out without thinking, thumb brushing over the side of that mouth, the bittersweet curve of his smile. It's a brief, fleeting touch. He fears he will corrupt the good that shines in Steve otherwise. ]
I wanted to preserve the person that you were for a little longer. None of it is your fault.
[ The way Steve's expression pries itself open is almost comical for those few seconds Bucky's touch ghosts the edge of his mouth, the side of his face, and Steve stares at him as if he's trying to decipher the motion, as if there is some great mystery behind it and how he reaches out for him. Maybe he's overthinking, which is why he doesn't chase it. Not quite. Steve does catch his hand, but after that, he's not sure what to do with it besides grip it steadily. ]
That's not your responsibility. I made my choice. [ And he lives with that every single day he wakes up and sees him, feeling the words on the tip of his tongue refusing to come like they should. There is so much he wants to say - that he's sorry, that it was his fault, that Bucky deserves better - but none of it is enough. He doesn't think it ever will be, and all he can do is sigh. ] I'm glad you're here. [ He'll say it as many times as he has to until they both believe it. ]
[ Bucky gently teases. He might be glad, but every day Steve looks at him like he's in pain, like he's being tormented by all that's out of reach. If there's anyone that deserves better, it's Steve -- Bucky has done too much to be worthy of anything good; anything that isn't punishment for all that he's done. He lets his hand still in Steve's grip, silently wondering what he'd do.
He studies Steve, taking in every flicker of expression, committing it to memory. It's funny how some things don't change. ] Have you done anything that isn't for someone else's sake lately?
[ There's a quiet huff in response to that, awkward for the few seconds it takes him to fumble with letting his hand go. He still wants to hold on, keep it there until nothing could tear them apart, but it's not a fair assumption to make that Bucky would want the same thing. In all honesty, he has no idea what he wants, and Steve can't bring himself to ask. He just brushes it off with a careless little shrug of his shoulders. ]
I ran this morning. [ His smile is an equal tease, quick and soft. ] You know, I wouldn't mind it if you wanted to stay here sometimes. [ Have a repeat of what it had been like to be crammed into a small space with the warmth of him pressed close and reassuring. ] If it helps.
[ Bucky's gaze flickers to Steve's throat instinctively -- it wasn't so long ago that he sported ugly, vivid bruises on his throat, but he remembers eventually sharing a bed with a younger him the way they always had whenever it got too cold and the heating in Steve's apartment never properly worked.
He had insisted on sleeping on the floor at first, aware that this Steve wouldn't survive a throttling if that happened -- but Steve is nothing if not tenacious, and staying in his vicinity is the best way of ensuring that no one on the ship decided to see Steve as easy prey. They had slept curled together like children, and for a blessed few days his sleep had been dreamless. He misses that. ]
[ He thinks it might have always been something he'd wanted to talk about since that day in the training room, but Steve isn't sure where to draw the line anymore. Things like this are always a choice he has to make for himself; if Steve presses, he wonders just how much it would take for Bucky to cave. He wonders if that's still something between them, if it's ever even left, and those few hours he'd felt safe right beside him when he hadn't known anything of the truth... Maybe he could ask. Maybe he could risk it. ]
Something like that. [ Steve moves from where he's standing to walk around him and sit on the edge of his bed. It's hardly big enough for him, so cramming two people in it might not be comfortable, but knowing he's there and okay negates that almost immediately. ] What do you think? [ He tries to keep his voice level, his face straight. Best not to hope too much when so many things are still unknown. ]
[ Bucky's response is quiet, tentative, but warm. There isn't very much that he will withhold from Steve even now -- because what the mind forgets, the heart remembers; and he had loved Steve enough to follow him into hell. It was not choice, it was something stronger and more powerful, the instinct to protect what he holds precious, no matter the personal cost.
Steve is what's precious, the knowledge of that buried under so much trauma and pain and anger -- and he is reminded of it now, a pleasant warmth in his chest he had long believed was dead. It had never left, not really. Dryly, he comments: ]
You sure the both of us can fit in there? [ Actually, he doesn't care. He'll probably squeeze right in there with him. ]
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And selfishly? Selfishly, he wanted to be something resembling happy, just for a little while. Steve's younger self had given him those precious days, wholly undeserved for a creature like him, but he holds on to them like a light in the darkness. ]
I liked it too. [ He admits. Then, wryly. ] I haven't seen you that happy in a long time. [ And he would lie to him again and again just to preserve that. ]
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[ That much he understands, but it had never been about his own happiness. Maybe none of it had, though his own selfishness had brought them to this point in ways he couldn't even begin to explain. Steve takes responsibility for all of it, carries it quietly and without even considering those who might be there to help him with it. He'd never ask Bucky for it, could never bring himself to tear apart what little he's rebuilt for himself here. ] But it's... I'm not that guy anymore, Buck. Everything that was left of him was put aside a long time ago. [ And then, quieter: ] I want you to know that.
[ Because he doesn't blame him for lying, not really. Still, it pulls and scratches just beneath the surface in a way he doesn't know how to address, and when he meets Bucky's eyes, all he can do is just steadily stare at him. ]
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[ Bucky meets his eyes steadily. They are both very different men now, but what the mind forgets, the heart remembers. He remembers how he loved him, inseparable on the playground and battlefield -- and he knows it to his bones even now. They are tethered to each other, for better or worse. ]
The man that you were shouldn't have to know me as I am now. I'm not his Bucky.
[ My sins aren't yours to bear. ]
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I have just as much right to know you now as I knew you then. What's important isn't any different, and that's never gonna change. [ Together until the end, wherever that might be. ] If we can't trust each other, what else do we have? [ It shouldn't matter, and maybe, in some small way, it doesn't. Yet, Steve can't let go of it, stubbornly stands there and looks him in the eye as if he's daring him to think of something else, anything else, that could tie them so strongly together. ]
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[ A point-blank question. Steve is not going to back down, not today, but Bucky wants to know. Bucky understands this more than anything else, that trust is important -- even so, can't Steve trust that he's doing this with his well-being in mind? How will knowing what's happened change anything? Because Bucky damn well wouldn't do anything differently. ]
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You are. [ A half quirk of his mouth, and the smile, though there, is sad. ] Thought you'd have figured that one out by now. [ Even after every dead end or empty mission, he'd continued to look for him. He'd never given up like he had that cold day in the mountains, and this is where they are, where they stand. Steve could list the individual traits - his bravery, his tenacity, the charm that's still beneath years of HYDRA's influence, the tenderness that reaches out even now - but it encompasses all of him, everything that Steve would never doubt regardless of what version stood in front of him. ]
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Bucky knows what's important to Steve -- a part of him had always known because he feels the same. Steve is his lifeline in this time, in this world, one person he doesn't deserve. Bucky reaches out without thinking, thumb brushing over the side of that mouth, the bittersweet curve of his smile. It's a brief, fleeting touch. He fears he will corrupt the good that shines in Steve otherwise. ]
I wanted to preserve the person that you were for a little longer. None of it is your fault.
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That's not your responsibility. I made my choice. [ And he lives with that every single day he wakes up and sees him, feeling the words on the tip of his tongue refusing to come like they should. There is so much he wants to say - that he's sorry, that it was his fault, that Bucky deserves better - but none of it is enough. He doesn't think it ever will be, and all he can do is sigh. ] I'm glad you're here. [ He'll say it as many times as he has to until they both believe it. ]
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[ Bucky gently teases. He might be glad, but every day Steve looks at him like he's in pain, like he's being tormented by all that's out of reach. If there's anyone that deserves better, it's Steve -- Bucky has done too much to be worthy of anything good; anything that isn't punishment for all that he's done. He lets his hand still in Steve's grip, silently wondering what he'd do.
He studies Steve, taking in every flicker of expression, committing it to memory. It's funny how some things don't change. ] Have you done anything that isn't for someone else's sake lately?
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I ran this morning. [ His smile is an equal tease, quick and soft. ] You know, I wouldn't mind it if you wanted to stay here sometimes. [ Have a repeat of what it had been like to be crammed into a small space with the warmth of him pressed close and reassuring. ] If it helps.
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He had insisted on sleeping on the floor at first, aware that this Steve wouldn't survive a throttling if that happened -- but Steve is nothing if not tenacious, and staying in his vicinity is the best way of ensuring that no one on the ship decided to see Steve as easy prey. They had slept curled together like children, and for a blessed few days his sleep had been dreamless. He misses that. ]
Was that what you wanted to talk to me about?
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Something like that. [ Steve moves from where he's standing to walk around him and sit on the edge of his bed. It's hardly big enough for him, so cramming two people in it might not be comfortable, but knowing he's there and okay negates that almost immediately. ] What do you think? [ He tries to keep his voice level, his face straight. Best not to hope too much when so many things are still unknown. ]
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[ Bucky's response is quiet, tentative, but warm. There isn't very much that he will withhold from Steve even now -- because what the mind forgets, the heart remembers; and he had loved Steve enough to follow him into hell. It was not choice, it was something stronger and more powerful, the instinct to protect what he holds precious, no matter the personal cost.
Steve is what's precious, the knowledge of that buried under so much trauma and pain and anger -- and he is reminded of it now, a pleasant warmth in his chest he had long believed was dead. It had never left, not really. Dryly, he comments: ]
You sure the both of us can fit in there? [ Actually, he doesn't care. He'll probably squeeze right in there with him. ]