Chapter Text
Steve looked at him like he was the sun, smiled at him like he was the sweetest little creature, touched him as though he was made of the finest silk. Even as he hauled him from the gutter, wiped a mixture of blood and mud from his clothes, Steve had treated him like an angel.
He remembered being Bucky then. Not all of it, but snatches. Enough for his heart to warm at those careful touches, enough to make him lean into the contact and smile to himself. It was good, it was familiar, and there was a kindness in it he hadn't felt for a long time. He had let Steve help him to stand up, and limped with him to the room that Steve was staying in.
The bullet holes in the wall made him flinch. He had held the gun, shot through the brick, and he stared at those holes blankly as more of the Soldier's memories came back, digging into his mind. He wondered how he could have allowed Steve so close, tried to flinch away from him.
He tried to hide the pain, but even looking at that wall made his heart race. He could remember being given the orders, having accepted them, and he couldn't breathe.
"Bucky!" Steve gripped his shoulder tightly, shaking him to attention. "Bucky, you okay?"
"I..." He stared at the wall. "I shot the man."
"He's okay Buck. He's okay... look, you shouldn't be here. We'll just stay for one night okay, get you cleaned up... then we can take you to New York, Stark's going to help keep you safe. Lots of people are after you, but it wasn't your fault, we're going to prove that..." Steve was still babbling and his hand was on Bucky's shoulder, and the words were flowing over Bucky's head, his attention focussed on the cold ball of terror in his gut.
He thought of their past, their time together but the image of the tenement in Brooklyn faded for a moment, replaced by a beautiful house with a piano in the corner, a man with soft blond hair playing there. At first he thought it was Steve, the outline of the face familiar, but as the figure twisted he knew that this wasn't him. This was the man he was afraid of most, and he straightened unconsciously, awaiting more orders.
There were hands on him, and he tried not to shudder as he was led to the bathroom, undressed, pushed under warm water. The water that swirled down the plug hole was tinged grey with specks of red, and when the hands released him he crumpled to the floor. The water ran down his body, wiping away the dirt, and he lay there panting. There was a knock on the door and he jumped, looking for anything he could use to arm himself.
He shouldn't be armed, he knew that. He had to behave. He didn't recognise this room, didn't recognise where he was. His handler was outside the door and he needed to listen. He had to give them what they wanted.
"Bucky?" Came the voice again, and something clicked back in his brain. Steve.
"Yeah?" He called out. "What is it?"
"You okay in there? You've been in there for half an hour, I'm worried about the water bill..." There was an awkward laugh in Steve's voice, and Bucky recognised it as a kindness, an attempt to spare his fear, excusing his terror. Giving him a way out.
"Can you come in?" He asked. Even if this wasn't Steve, it was safer to ask like this than have to drag himself to the door. The door creaked open, and Steve smiled at him.
"Hey..."
"Sorry." Bucky muttered, lifting his hand and rubbing his fingers through his hair. "Been a long couple of days."
"It's okay." Steve promised gently. "It's okay. I got a towel for you."
"Thanks." Bucky stood, turning down the shower and grabbing the towel. It was soft, white, warm against his skin. He let the fabric’s warm touch anchor him, and looked up at Steve.
"What happened there?"
"I..." Bucky hesitated, then shrugged. "No clue. You said about moving right?"
There was no way he could ignore the brilliant smile that his recall seemed to cause on Steve's handsome face. That smile brought with it its own flash of memories, of lazy kisses and snatched moments in tents. They had been lovers. He couldn't understand what that meant, but he knew it had never hurt, that it had never been like it had been with Sandy. Alexander. The man at the piano. Alexander was a bad man, and he was dead. Steve was alive, and so good, and Bucky needed to cling to that.
"Yeah, I did. New York, you'll love it there. Some of the old restaurants survived, and the galleries... and Stark's tech. You're going to have a great time." Steve was babbling again, but Bucky focussed on him, and when some clean clothes got thrown to him he pulled them on.
He wanted to be alright for Steve, more than anything. He wanted to be someone who was worthy of him. He thought there might have been a time when he was, but that was long past.
There were times when it was manageable, when he could focus. When they were sat opposite each other and eating, that was good, he could focus on the taste. Taste was one of the best things about this new world, something that had been missing for so long. Hydra never needed to give him taste, but Steve gave him the best food. Eating itself was hard, too much food in one meal left him sick, but Steve was helping, giving him small titbits that were full of flavour.
He was coping when they were in the same space, as long as they weren't touching. Or even in the same space, and touching, if they were sparring. Because sparring, he could remember. Sparring was something he had done with Hydra, but it had never been bad. It had hurt, but it had never been so terrible that he had had to go inside himself. Even when he was fighting ten armed men, the fight itself had never been enough to make him hide, so fighting Steve was simple.
It was only after, when Steve's hand brushed his, or he threw an arm around his shoulders, that Bucky felt the darkness begin to grow in his mind. He'd had a lot of experience with hiding, and it came out too easily. He could lose hours that way, days.
It had ended up with one of the Strike Team or another person in Hydra just needing to beckon him over, and he started to fall into himself. He would obey what they wanted, do what they asked, but the pain barely registered and at the end he would come around in his cell, thighs covered in blood and other filth. They didn't even realise when he went in on himself, not all of the time. But sometimes they would catch him, and then it would hurt more as they tried to pull him back into now.
He shivered, and Steve was by his side in an instant, handing him a bag and gripping his shoulder.
"Need you to pack up your stuff okay? You'll really like the team, promise. They're great."
"Thank you." Bucky murmured blankly, pulling away to pack. He tried not to see the way Steve's face fell as he shoved his few possessions - all gifts from Steve the previous day - into his bag.
The move was quick, and soon they were in their new rooms, guided by a robotic voice. They were good rooms, he supposed. An entire floor in this incredible building to themselves, and Steve had given him his own bedroom for privacy. He thanked him, and then when left alone he investigated under the guise of arranging his possessions.
Cameras in two corners, a couple of speakers, a lock on the door. A bed that he could fit under, a wardrobe that he could hide items beneath, a small table beside the bed. There was a small bathroom in the next room, and a connecting door between them. There were a few things to make his life easier, and he was grateful for that, but he was painfully aware of Steve's room next door. Steve might want to pick up where they left off, but he couldn’t, and he couldn’t explain why he couldn’t. Steve needed to be kept safe from that.
There was a knock on the wood and he tensed, standing to attention. Steve stuck his head around the door, smiling at him fondly.
"Hey, how is it?"
"It's good." Bucky answered with a smile. "Come in, have a look."
"Like what you've done with it." Steve agreed softly. "Anything more you need?"
"Food?"
"Team's having a meal later but Buck... if you can't deal with the entire team, we can break it down, you don't have to meet them all..."
"I can do it." Bucky answered, crossing his arms and then standing up once more. "Thank you."
He walked towards the door, careful to duck away from Steve's hand when he reached out towards him. Confusion flashed in Steve's eyes.
"I'm sorry." Steve murmured. "I should have thought that you might not be ready for that.”
Bucky flinched slightly. He remembered that he had liked being Steve's lover, had felt safe with him, and the thought of losing that hurt him deeply. He swallowed and looked up at him again.
"I do. I just feel a bit jumpy right now."
"I can wait." Steve said simply. "I've got all the time in the world for you Bucky."
"Thanks." Bucky made himself smile in response. If he concentrated, he could remember lying in bed with Steve, kissing him deeply and leaning against his chest. He could remember Steve's hands on his hips, and things had felt good. But even the thought of it happening now made his skin crawl, and that distance start to beckon. He took a deep breath and headed down to dinner.