Chapter Text
Falsworth leaves first. “Good-bye, chaps,” he says, shouldering his bag. “It’s been a pleasure serving with you.” He tips his ragged remnant of a hat up with a thumb. “If we ever meet again, may it be under better circumstances.”
Dernier is far more maudlin. “You were the best men I’ve ever had the honor of serving with,” he declares in English, jabbing at all of them with a fierce finger. “Thank you.” He actually grabs Jones into a hug -- Jones pats him on the back until Dernier finally staggers back.
Jones, Morita, Dugan -- they all leave, eventually. And then Steve and Bucky have nothing to do except go back home.
Coming back to Brooklyn is a shock. The streets are busy with people shouting, laughing -- full of life. It nearly dazzles Steve, the first time he sees it.
“Bucky,” he says. “We don’t belong here.”
“We will,” Bucky says, pulling him close. “We will, I promise.”
------
Peggy comes up from DC a week after he comes back. “Come work for the SSR,” she suggests. “If you’ve got nothing better to do.”
“I can’t,” he tells her honestly. “Put on a mask and be Captain America again? Captain America’s finished.” He looks down at his hands. It’s been weeks since he’s held the shield. “The war’s over,” he tells her. “Maybe I need a rest.”
He can tell she doesn’t understand. She’s been fighting all her life. She’s still fighting.
“Alright,” she says anyway, and kisses him on the cheek. “Good-bye, Steve.”
She leaves without looking back. For a moment he can smell the scent of her perfume, and then it’s gone. The life he could have had.
“She would have married you,” Bucky tells him.
“I know,” he says. “I don’t deserve her.”
------
They’re still in the same apartment they shared before the war. They could afford better. Neither of them mention it.
Steve still wakes up at nights reaching for a weapon he no longer has. He grows familiar with how the shadows creep across the wall as the sun comes up. He knows Bucky’s doing the same. Sometimes he hears them -- the shouts Bucky tries to bite down but can’t quite manage.
One of those nights when both of them are awake Bucky gets up and makes his way to Steve’s bed. “Steve,” he says. “Please.”
“We can’t,” Steve tells him, aching with every word. “War’s over, Buck. Things are -- different.”
“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Yeah, you’re right.” He looks away for a moment. “Sorry.”
“Don’t,” Steve says. “Just -- go back to bed.”
Bucky goes. Steve doesn’t go to sleep for the rest of the night.
------
They go to dancehalls, Bucky and Steve. Steve orders a drink and sits at the bar. Girls come up to him, often. “Sorry,” he tells them with a smile. “Never learned how to dance.”
Steve watches Bucky dance. Bucky’s beautiful on the floor: there’s a flush on his cheeks and a light in his eyes.
But he never dances with the same girl twice.
“You can bring girls home,” he tells Bucky once. “I’ll duck out. You should do it, if you --”
“Naw,” Bucky says, and looks away. He tucks his hands into his pockets. “Don’t want to, really.”
------
Some nights Steve wakes up screaming and doesn’t remember what he fought for.
Some nights Steve wakes up screaming and doesn’t know if anything’s changed.
------
It’s the first time since Steve’s got back that he’s felt like drawing. He opens up his sketchbook -- the one he’s carried halfway round the world and back -- and a folded piece of paper falls out. He flattens it out and looks at it.
It’s the picture he drew of Bucky, way back in Kerama. Steve brushes the curve of Bucky’s cheek on the page. The soft pencil smudges, turning Bucky’s face a blurry gray.
He doesn’t feel like drawing anymore. He stares at the picture for a long time, and then puts it back.
------
Sometimes, Bucky looks at Steve like he’s the only one in the world. Steve has to look away, then, because he has no idea what to say.
------
Steve wakes up gasping. It’s still dark out. His shirt’s soaked in sweat. He throws off his blanket and sits with his feet on the floor, his head in his hands.
And then Bucky makes a soft sound from across the room and stands up.
“I don’t care,” he says. He sits down next to Steve and takes him into his arms. Steve trembles. Bucky’s so very warm. “I don’t care,” he says again. “You’re it, for me. I don’t want anyone else.”
“I’ve ruined you,” Steve says wretchedly. “You need -- you deserve better than this, Buck.”
“Shut up,” Bucky says, taking up Steve’s hands. He kisses them, very carefully, like they’re something important. “Tell me it’s okay,” he says. “Tell me I’m good enough for you, Rogers. Or,” and his voice trembles, “or tell me to go, and I’ll go.”
Maybe they’re both broken. But they -- fit. They fit together.
“Stay,” Steve says, and kisses Bucky. He kisses him and kisses him. “Stay, please.”
“God,” Bucky says, and laughs. “We’re both idiots, aren’t we.”
Steve feels warmer than he’s felt in months. “We are,” he agrees, and presses Bucky down into the bed. “I should have seen -- I should have known --”
“No shoulds,” Bucky tells him, pressing a finger to Steve’s mouth. “Don’t think about the past, Rogers.”
“Don’t think,” Steve whispers back. “Celebrate.” He presses his mouth to the curve of Bucky’s neck, licking at the soft skin there. Slides lower, to nip at Bucky’s collarbone.
Bucky’s cock is hard against Steve’s thigh. He pats at it through Bucky’s pants. “What’s this,” he says. “Should I touch it?”
“You’re a tease, Rogers.” Bucky’s voice is rough. “C’mon, Steve. Touch me.”
Steve smiles. “I’ll do you one better,” he says, and slides down the length of Bucky’s body. He frees Bucky’s cock and licks at the head, and then takes it into his mouth.
Bucky makes a strangled sound when Steve swallows him down. His hands come down to tangle in Steve’s hair. Steve lets him, laughing around Bucky’s cock.
It doesn’t take Bucky long to come. Steve swallows, wipes his mouth and climbs back up to kiss Bucky again.
“Rogers,” Bucky groans, his head falling back onto the pillow. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
“Not yet you’re not,” Steve says, wrapping his arms around Bucky and tugging him closer. “I have plans for you, pal.”