Archive of Our Own

Steve's hands ached for a pencil. Charcoal, even. Pastels, paper, pen, he didn't care. He needed to draw, to record what was in front of him, to capture it forever; and not just the visual aspect but the meaning of the moment as well. He wanted to relish the curves and lines as he drew them because this was perfect and he finally could.

The image before him featured a man and a cat. The cat was a stray, but there was something about it; lean, long-haired and pure black with large ears and a strange snout. Steve knew it was a stray because he saw it wandering around the area, searching for food and hiding under parked cars. He didn't know why he'd decided to start feeding it one day, but he had.

Since the first ever morning he'd pulled the ham from his breakfast sandwich and left it in the alley near the new house, the stray cat had returned at dawn each day without fail. Each day, Steve had done it, and if he was slightly late the cat would wait for him, often with a distinct air of disapproval in its bright green eyes, but there all the same. Each day, he'd fed it, except today.

Steve had assumed that Bucky had rather a lot on his mind for Steve to suddenly bring up his new feline acquaintance, although it now seemed he had been completely mistaken. Bucky had never been fond of cats - the old Bucky, that is - he had always loved the strength and loyalty of dogs, cats were too mysterious and unreliable, so the current image struck Steve in a way that almost seemed to typify all that had changed, though for once in a way that was neither wistful nor sad.

Steve was silent as he watched from the end of the entrance hallway. Bucky had apparently thought to take Steve's morning habit into his own hands as he noted the discarded ham next to him. He wondered for a second how Bucky had found out, but then reprimanded himself. Of course he would have noticed.
What had left Steve gaping, however, was Bucky sitting cross-legged on the doorstep, the door left ajar and forgotten, with a fiercely purring cat in his lap. Bucky was looking at it the way one would look at a precious jewel or Stark would look at a new piece of science; all fascination, some disbelief, and a special sort of love that came from novelty.

The cat was butting it's head against the metal hand that rested on his knee and Bucky frowned in confusion. Eventually he lifted the hand up as if believing the cat wanted it removed, but the furry black head followed it until it almost seemed to be stroking itself, using Bucky for its own end. Steve smiled sadly at that, because every day Bucky remembered more of his past, they became aware of some other unusual thing he had forgotten about.

The first had been food. Steve had found it surprisingly easy to believe that if they had been keeping Bucky drugged up to his eyeballs, they would just feed him that way too; keep him dependent. Unfortunately, it had left Bucky with an inherent suspicion of food and physically eating that had taken Steve a number of days to break through - and even then he only managed because he had finally convinced Bucky that the stomach pains he was having came from hunger. "I don't eat." Bucky had said, utterly confident. "I don't need to."

There were other things too, like the conflict he felt between obeying orders and giving opinions. Sharing thoughts was clearly a cathartic exercise, though the more he seemed to know someone, the less opinions he offered. It was as if respect coincided with his own silence, as if the only way he could show that he cared about what someone was saying was by refusing to burden them with any response of his own. To comment was to disobey an unspoken order.
Steve couldn't help but resent that, so opposite to Bucky's original morals as it was. Steve knew he would have hated it. But they had been working hard to reinforce healthy behaviours and Bucky would generally say what he thought now, not just around Steve, but even around the select others that visited from time to time.

The funny thing about normality lied in the fact that it was relative to everything around it. Bucky hadn't just lost what made him him, but he'd lost a lot of what made him human. Emotions came to him surprisingly well, but it had taken a little while for Steve to realise that the way Bucky expressed and understood them looked a lot like he'd memorised emotion from a textbook. When he slept, there was true fear, and he screamed like there was a white hot rod inside him and he couldn't break free of it.

But Bucky knew what affection looked like in humans, and Steve was wondering if he could detect it in animals. The cat nudged at his thigh before putting two paws on Bucky's leg to lift itself higher and presumably ask for strokes. Bucky was incredibly hesitant, but curious, and raised his flesh hand instead as he neared the black fur.

The cat seemed ecstatic to have finally earned Bucky's attention and Bucky edged his fingers over the ears of the cat lightly, then down its back to the tip of its tail. The cat made happy gargle noises in its throat as Bucky took some initiative and began to stroke beneath its neck. They looked like two peas in a pod; Bucky with his hair hanging all over the place in his black long-sleeved pyjamas, and the cat a dark fluffy creature intent on shedding every extra hair on Bucky's clothes.

Steve felt a nostalgic gladness that he no longer had asthma. Bucky was not leaning away anymore, but gradually getting closer to the happy feline between his legs. Steve once again wished he had his drawing pad with him, but there was no way he was missing a second of this to go and retrieve it. Bucky would probably hear him anyway. Steve managed not to start as Bucky spoke.

"Another one." Bucky muttered as the cat rolled over onto its back. Bucky gently tousled the belly fur with his hand as a smile hinted at the corner of his mouth. "Another Steve."

Bucky's voice was low and clearly only meant for his audience of one, so Steve was confused. Another Steve? He couldn't know the cat's name - there had never been any sort of collar or other form of identification on it, Steve had checked. Another Steve... He frowned. Also, Bucky was talking to a cat, and Steve didn't actually know whether that made him more normal or abnormal. He supposed it didn't matter, he hated the terms anyway.
Steve wished he could see Bucky's face better but he was turned to the side, only giving him a direct view of his left. Steve shifted slightly in the shadows and then took a cautious step forward. Big mistake.

It just so happened that the exact place he stepped was a clichéd, creaky bit of the floor and the first things to swivel round were the bat-ears of that godforsaken cat. He was surprised the thing hadn't heard him breathing. Then again, maybe it had. The green eyes followed, along with the snap of Bucky's blue ones, both pairs meeting Steve's with an owlish look of being caught in the act.

He almost said, am I interrupting something? but didn't, because it was what Stark would have said and he wasn't starting to sound like Stark. "Um," he grimaced, "sorry."

Bucky didn't blush anymore, but Steve had the feeling that he would have. Bucky's hands were frozen, one halfway down the cat's back and the metal one floating above his knee where he'd lifted it to do something. The cat was still too, as if picking up on the tension. Steve decided to play it cool.

"So I saw you, er, did the morning run for me then?" He could feel the cogs turning in Bucky's head.

"You were tired. You overslept."

"Sure, no, it's cool, thanks buddy." Steve wondered what he was supposed to do then. He met the cat's gaze by accident, and looked away. Wait, was he being stared down by a cat? Bucky hadn't moved, he seemed to think that the less attention he drew to the thing in his lap the better. Steve took a couple of casual steps forward and the cat was tense in a second, and hissing at him. Now, what kind of thanks was that to a guy that had fed you for six weeks. Steve tried not to take it personally that both of the darkly clad couple in front of him were suddenly on the defensive - the cat, he could argue, possibly on the offensive.

Steve looked at Bucky for an explanation, whose expression was conflicted. His hands had touched the cat protectively and it warmed Steve's heart to see it; to see him caring for something.

"I don't think she wants you to come any closer." Bucky said, and Steve raised his eyebrows. Then Bucky looked down at the cat and scratched behind its ears a little. The feline seemed to turn to putty in his hands and Bucky's face formed into something that was the literal embodiment of the word delight. He was proud of himself too, Steve could see it, and Bucky spoke low in his throat. "Steve isn't a threat." He directed to the cat, and then Bucky beckoned him over.

Steve didn't think that even HYDRA could develop a way to talk to animals, but Bucky was pretty damn close. The cat responded to him as if they'd known each other their whole lives; Steve refused to acknowledge the irony. Bucky continued to stroke the cat until Steve had crouched down next to him and then he smiled at Steve in a way that was almost conspiratorial - a secret smile, like he wasn't sure why he was doing it. Steve had an urge to touch him, grasp him or put a hand on his knee, but it had been a long time since that had been a thing that was okay, so Steve replied with a smile of his own. "She likes you." Steve said, because they didn't communicate the same way any more and a lot of the time Steve had to state the obvious, and vice versa.

Bucky's eyes widened a little, then he looked away. "I fed her and gave her comfort; natural instinct would advise that she take advantage of that to survive."

"True enough, but I've been doing that for the last month or so and she's never acted like that with me."

Bucky frowned. "Why?"

"Guess she just prefers you."

He paused, and Steve watched as Bucky attempted to solve whatever wasn't matching up in his head. "You have been providing for her for a long time now, perhaps she assumes that I'm friendly by default - maybe she recognises our joint scent."

"Doesn't really explain why she went all crazy protective of you a minute ago."

Bucky was stuck. He looked down at the cat like it held every secret he'd ever wanted to know, every thought and memory taken from him, every piece of his identity that had been turned stranger to itself. "Then why?"

"There's obviously something about you that she likes."

"But-" Bucky's throat was suddenly tight. "You're the good one."

Steve would never be used to the daily heartbreak he felt where Bucky was concerned but this time he could feel his face contorting with the pain. He fought to keep his voice even. "No," and forced a reassuring curl to his lips. "There's no good one. There's good and bad in all of us. We just try to do what's right. Make the best we can out of a bad situation. Clearly, there are certain qualities that you possess that have been deemed rather attractive by your friend here." Bucky face was strained. "And she's not the only one."

Bucky slammed his metal fist into the ground between them. The sound rung through the air. "Stop it, Steve." Steve was alarmed at the amount of vitriol suddenly filling Bucky's voice.

"Bucky-"

"I said stop it."

A tremor spread through Steve and he wasn't sure if it was an aftershock of the force of Bucky's hit or the chilling feeling of no control. Steve had been so sure that today was going to be a good day. Bucky's danger days were so far apart now that Steve could predict their coming and prepare. It was his own fault, he should have been paying better attention, should have agreed to the extra protection that S.H.I.E.L.D. had offered. But Bucky had been doing so well and he hadn't thought that the progress would be going backwards. Bucky had been learning, interacting, remembering (painfully) but coping (mostly).

But now Bucky was looking at him in a way that Steve had seen only a few times before - when those eyes had belonged to the Winter Soldier. Still curled in Bucky's lap, the cat seemed oblivious to the changing tone of its benefactor. Steve was suddenly fearful for the animal in case Bucky lashed out.
There was no way he could make a grab for it, Bucky would have his arm in a second. He was breathing heavily, eyes down, and Steve didn't know whether talking would make it better or worse. Should he chance it?

"We wouldn't want to scare her..." Steve began quietly to no response. He didn't plan on moving away but he wasn't going to get any closer either. "I don't think your new friend would appreciate it... Bucky? Bucky!"

Bucky had wrapped two hands around the cat's torso and started to lift it up. The cat didn't seem to mind the treatment but Steve was cold with fear. "Bucky. Bucky, let's just think this through. Hey! Buck-"

Bucky placed the cat down on the other side of his body, hands shaking, and, seemingly picking up on the anxiety in Steve's voice, she took off down the street without a second glance. Steve was halfway standing as Bucky ran a hand over his face and half-sob-choked.

Steve reached out for his shoulder but let his hand hover over it. Bucky met his eyes and Steve could see the depths of the earth. Bucky's eyes were the grey, silver, blue of a storm and he was lost at sea. But Steve was not about to let him drown. Never again. He touched Bucky's shoulder, wincing internally at the intersection of flesh and metal. Bucky stood up.

"I'm sorry, Steve-"

"Don't be."

"-but you're wrong."

Steve sent him a questioning look.

"There are good people, and there are bad people. The labels just switch depending on what side you're fighting. I've done too much, and you know, I know you've seen it. I don't- I don't even know which one I am sometimes. I can't tell which side I'm on." Bucky pushed past Steve then, and strode down the hallway.

Steve followed him through the dining room and into the kitchen area. He still hadn't figured out why Bucky always gravitated here. "I don't care which side you're on, or if you don't know. I'm on your side, and that's all that matters to me."

Bucky twisted his head away and leant his forearms on the island countertop. His body was heaving. "I know you- You're always trying to help, but I can't - you can't - take away this feeling like there's not enough air in the room." Bucky's voice cracked and he moved to the kitchen window, shoving it open and almost shattering the glass - Steve would bet a few bucks they'd been reinforced within an inch of the original product though. "Not enough air in the world." Bucky seemed to be sucking in great lungfuls of oxygen and Steve thought he might hyperventilate. His body was tense as a bowstring and his flesh hand trembled where it hung at his side.

Then something clicked in his mind, and Steve rushed over to put one hand at Bucky's back and the other one at his good shoulder. "Bucky, you're having a panic attack."

"No," he gasped, eyes flicking away, desperate to look at anything but Steve, "I'm not."

"Fine, forget that, put it out of your mind." Steve grasped Bucky by the upper arms and turned him so they faced each other. "Just focus on me. Come on, how many times have I shaved this month? Come on, I know you know."

Bucky scrunched his face up and squeezed his muscles. "Fifteen. Fifteen times."

"You got it. And how many times have I done the grocery shopping?"

Bucky had gripped his forearms in return now, and Steve could see the trickle of sweat making its way down his temple. "Twice."

"How long since I got a haircut?"

"Twenty-four days."

"Last fruit you ate?"

"Apple."

"Last fruit I ate?"

There was a pause. Bucky glanced to the cereal box left out on the countertop. "Raisins?"

Steve smiled. "Technically, sultanas."

Bucky's grip on Steve arms lessened a little. "Which are a different type of raisin." He said, a tinge defensive.

"If they were the same, they wouldn't have different names."

Bucky narrowed his eyes. "Don't give me that crap, sultanas are dried grapes and the umbrella term for dried grapes is raisins. Sub-groups are sub-groups."

Steve raised his eyebrows. The seriousness on Bucky's face would be amusing if he thought about the subject matter too much. But he had to keep him distracted. "Since when did you become a raisin expert, anyway?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I just know things."

Steve gave a short rub to Bucky's arms. His breathing had calmed down now, but Steve didn't know if they were out of the woods yet. "Do you want to sit down?"

"Yeah."

They made it to the dining table without breaking eye contact because Steve knew that Bucky needed something concrete to hold on to in the times when he felt like he was going to fall away. They sat either side of the corner.

Bucky wasn't frantic anymore, but he was lost again. And Steve was used to that expression more than any other because Bucky wore it almost every day. The blank, indifferent expression he tried to put up crumbled to pieces when Steve had it under scrutiny, so Steve got the raw stuff. The stuff that Bucky couldn't hide. The eyes glazed over with the promise of tears, and a frown that spoke of sorrow.

"You always know what to do, Steve; what the right thing is." Bucky's voice was resigned.

"No..." Steve murmured, soothingly. "I don't."

Bucky sighed. "You're just too modest to believe it."

"Doing the right thing is different for every person."

"Well, I wanna do what's right for you."

Steve frowned; sometimes he wished he could take Bucky by the shoulders and shake the truth into him. "You are. Just being you; that's what's right for me."

Bucky gave a slow shake of his head but didn't seem as certain. Steve saw his chance and took Bucky's left wrist. "This right here, all of it." Steve ran his thumb over the indents of the metal. "All I want is you, as you are. Everything about you, and whatever you want to be. It's all right."

Bucky was open and exposed and vulnerable. He looked like Steve was holding his heart between his palms; and though Steve didn't want that power, if he had it he was going to take care of it.

Bucky's voice was quiet and lightly probing. "But you wish I was him. The other one."

"No, I don't."

Bucky cocked his head and raised his eyebrows as if to say, really? "You'd rather have this." He gestured to himself flippantly, voice dripping with disgust.

"There is no 'rather have', Bucky, Bucky, you are you, there's no one else. Everyone changes, everyone evolves, and you were forced to- Just, this is what it is. And we're here, together again. And maybe that wasn't a mistake. This is a second chance. Because you're alive, and I have you back and there's nothing I could be more grateful for." Steve knew he was starting to sound hysterical but he couldn't stop. "We can always relearn each other, we can make new memories, and-"

Bucky was looking at him differently. "Steve..."

"You don't have to stay with me if you don't want to. I know everything I've said... But it's not an obligation, you here now is all I could have hoped for. I don't expect you to hang around forever. You have a new life, we both do."

"Steve."

Steve looked away from the blue of Bucky's gaze and focused on the metal under his fingers. There was silence for a little while and Steve started to get lost in his head.

"You must have really loved this guy, huh?"

"Yeah." Steve said. He looked up and Bucky was smiling mysteriously. "Just a little bit."

"Ah, just a little bit." Bucky's voice was fond. "Well, there's that good old Steve-Rogers-honesty. And here I was informed that you couldn't tell a lie."

"I don't." Steve protested quickly, suddenly bashful. "But I do bend the truth sometimes." He smirked.