❝ you didn’t come here just for some closure, did you? ❞

   "I don't really know what I came here for."

      Can I help you with something?

       "Do you know who I am?"

w i r e s.

                The habit is born from so any different things; days when they would curl up together and had to lock the door to make sure no one saw and no one knew, and then days when he was paranoid, alone and afraid in a whole new world, all on his own, and then during the debacle with HYDRA, so sure that someone was going to break in and kill him. Some tried a few times, too, so it was a good habit to get into. But now he does it out of force of habit, even if the tower is probably the most secure location in the whole of Manhattan; maybe even the entirety of the state. He doesn’t need to make sure the building is secure, but he does it anyway.

              He goes to bed, but he doesn’t exactly sleep. Bucky’s presence just down the hallway is palpable, he thinks, and knowing his friend is there is making him restless. He’s so far away, when he’s usually so close. They used to share a bed before the war more often than not, and even during it they slept side by side, in bunks or in sleeping bags, or even on the bare ground itself. They always slept close by. It’s half the reason he had trouble sleeping when he woke up from the ice.

               But he does eventually fall asleep. And when he wakes, he goes to the bathroom and washes hastily. Then he goes to the kitchen, and makes breakfast. The least he can do is breakfast. And not burning the kitchen down, but whatever. He manages to find the ingredients for pancakes, even with chocolate chips, and he sets to work. Hopefully Bucky’ll like them.

        Bucky has more than one nightmare, muffles his screams into the soft pillow each time he wakes up. He wouldn't want Steve to hear him, not with his enhanced hearing. He had been fully briefed on the skills of Captain America, given a file to read that detailed everything he would need to know to take the target out. But he is a target no longer ---- he's a friend. The word feels odd, even just thinking it.

         He gets up when he hears Steve moving around in the kitchen, showers and dresses back in the clothing that he had been given the day before. He wants to savour being able to be clean and to look after himself, even if he's not quite sure how to do that quite yet. He flexes the metal arm, glad to see that it seems to be working correctly. He doesn't truly know how to maintain it, but he hopes Steve will know someone who can help with that.

          Eventually he sneaks from the room, hair damp as he wanders into the kitchen. He's not smiling, but his gaze is soft as it rests upon Steve, standing at the stove. Bucky edges closer, but he doesn't recognise what it is that is being made.

          "Mornin'," he says eventually, voice still thick with sleep, "Watcha makin'?"

Steve looks down at the charred pages and the smoke, and shifts his weight from foot to foot. At least Bucky seems to have found it funny. Steve leans into him, turning so he can wind his arms around his neck.

               ”It was supposed to be romantic.                 I was going to set the table an                 everything.”

He may be rolling his eyes as though Steve is the most useless man to work the earth, but there is nothing but overwhelming affection as he presses a kiss or two to Steve's jaw with a soft smile curving his mouth. Bucky is as close to his old self as he will ever be, but he is a new man as well ---- and maybe he is still a little broken, but then ---- they all are a little. And that's okay, he's realising. It doesn't mean he can't love Steve.

"I think you killed off the romance with the fire. Literally."

w i r e s.

               Steve knows this is going to be slow going. There may well be a night when Bucky says yeah, actually, I’ll stay up and leave you to it, but tonight’s not that night, and that’s okay. He seems hesitant, but Steve can understand. If he still needs direction then he is more than happy to give it to him; it’s the least he can offer, the very least he can do to help. And it makes sense, anyway, for him to gently push him into doing various things to get him accustomed to civilian life, because Steve is the best at stuff like this. His unwavering his patience, his gentle nature, all of it adds up to make him suited to this. He’d prefer not to do it too often, but for Bucky, he’ll do absolutely everything.

               ”Okay,” He nods, and he gives him a gentle smile. “That’s fine.” He reaches for the remote to flick the TV off; usually he goes through the motions, takes the disk out and turns the DVD player off before he turns the TV off, and then goes through the apartment, checking the exits and entrances to make sure they’re locked. That last one’s a habit he only recently got into, but it stuck fast. It makes more sense to go round and check everything, make sure he’s safe. He still sleeps with his shield by the side of his bed, though, just in case.

               He reaches out and touches Bucky’s arm. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He says, before going to lock the front door. The Tower is far more secure than his old apartment used to be, and yet he still checks. He hopes it’ll make Bucky feel a little bit better, too.

        Bucky watches as Steve locks the front door ---- remembers flickers of days long past where he would do the same while Steve watched on, made sure that none of the bullies that Steve picked fights with had followed them home. He doesn't voice this memory, but simply tucks it away close to his heart so that he doesn't forget again. There is so much that he has lost forever that he refuses to let the returning pieces of his life slip away again. His skin seems to tingle where Steve touched him, but Bucky knows it's just him, just his mind playing tricks on him.

         He would attempt a smile but he's not sure he has remembered how to yet, so he silently goes to the room he has been given and slips inside, staring at the soft bed for a few moments as though he is afraid it will disappear.

         He strips of the clothes that Steve has leant him, folds them neatly and places them on top of the dresser. It looks as though the room has its own bathroom ---- apparently Tony Stark was expecting Steve to have a visitor. Maybe they had all wanted him to come back. It's an odd thought, to wonder if he's wanted by anyone but Steve.

         The sheets are cool and soft on his bare skin as he gets into the bed, curls up and tugs the covers so that he is wrapped securely in them. The soft materials feel alien against his skin, and he commits the sensations to memory, just in case it's something he does not get to experience again. He thinks of Steve, so close and yet so far away, his memories of the man broken and torn from his mind. It makes him ----- it makes him angry at HYDRA, a fierce, white hot rage the likes of which he has not ever been allowed to feel.

         It takes a long time for him to fall asleep. He dreams of Steve, and a little apartment in Brooklyn.

"Uh, well—-" He rubs the back of his  neck, looking down at the small fire  he’s created. “-—I left the recipe book  too close to the ring. It might’ve  caught fire. Maybe.”

Bucky snorts, expression full of fond exasperation as he wanders to the stove to examine the damage. The ashy remains of a recipe book are clearly evident, and he turns to raise one eyebrow at Steve.

"Oh, Steve."

He grins, winds an arm about Steve's waist.

"Pass me the fire extinguisher—-  I think I just ruined our dinner.  And maybe the kitchen.”

"Seriously, Stevie? How did you set fire   to pasta? It's mostly water."

sentence meme [pushing daisies]

Madeline MIller, The Song of Achilles (via quoted-books)

govthookercoulson

(via darkly-stark)

w i r e s.

          Steve doesn’t know what’s going on in Bucky’s mind, and maybe that means he should be more wary. The Soldier could be right there, he could be ready to snap at any moment, he could be volatile, he could be the exact same Bucky Steve knew- how can he know for sure? He can’t. And maybe that means he should sit up and keep his eyes open and be ready to make a grab for his shield, but. But. But this is Bucky, and no matter who’s on the inside he makes Steve feel safe just by being around. He makes him feel like he’s at home, he makes him feel protected, even when he’s the one most likely to hold a knife to his throat. Steve should be more vigilant, but old habits certainly do die hard.

          He gives him something of a grin as he sits up. He’s still sat there, watching the film, apparently. The room is dark around them; the sun must have set without Steve even realising. He quietly orders JARVIS to turn up the lights a little, still keeping them dim. It’s actually kind of late. The party upstairs, his party, probably ended a long time ago, but he doesn’t care. He really doesn’t Not when he has Bucky sat down here with him.

          “Hey.” He murmurs back. He shifts, runs a hand through his mussed up hair. He stretches, he shifts again, and then once more his gaze settles on Bucky. “I’m gonna head to bed, I think. I’ll leave the dishes until tomorrow. You can stay up and watch some other movies, if you want—- I don’t mind.” Steve gives him a small smile. “Or you remember where your room is?”

        Bucky nods ---- while he isn't sure if his improving short term memory is something that will remain, he intends to make use of it while he can. On one hand, he would like to stay in the relative calm of the fantasy worlds that have been opened up to him, but he doesn't know where he is, not really, and he would like to become more used to his new situation. This freedom is somewhat terrifying, makes it hard to breathe, and he doesn't want to let Steve know that just yet. So he stands, rubs the tip of his nose in a shy gesture. He is so unsure of what the hell to do, but he knows that Steve will be patient.

        "I think I'll go to ---- go to bed too," he bites his lip ---- honestly, he doesn't know the last time he has slept in a bed. He imagines it must have been before the war, because he can remember the hard ground he slept on as a Howling Commando, and he knows even without the memories that HYDRA would simply put him in cryo when he wasn't active. To have a small space of his own sends a small shiver of excitement through him.

        It's such an innocent and pleasant feeling, that at first he doesn't quite know what to do with it. Still, he has all the time in the world to become Human again, to move from machine to man, and at least he has found a place of safety to recover in.

Another distasteful sigh comes from his lips at the beer that touches his lips, and he sighs loudly, placing the beer down on the table closest to him. He doesn’t want any more of it, it’s disgusting and he’s always preferred whiskey. But they don’t serve it here, it’s just beer and martini’s of the like. Looking down at his feet, he sighs quietly, looking back up to the other.

"I see," he nods, smiling a little at him. "Nice to meet you, Bucky. Anthony, but you can just call me Tony. I prefer it.” He nods, he’s not sure why he gave his first name out, but he did it anyway.

Tony tilts his head and watches as he picks up something fruity from the table, and he can’t help but laugh at it. “You don’t like beer, either? Not the only one.”

Bucky nods ---- he doesn't feel like reintroducing himself as James, and he's not sure that he'll ever see this guy ---- Tony ---- ever again. Still, he stores  away the piece of information. Somehow, he doesn't think he will forget Tony any time soon, despite his problems with memory these days. He glances at the pink drink he's picked up with a sheepish grin, but it's better than beer to be sure.

"Hate beer," he admits, "I'd rather drink anything else. I've never understood why people actually want to drink it."

He runs a hand through his hair and slurps at his drink a little more, a soft smile curling his mouth as he returns his gaze to Tony's face.

"So, a guy like you must have your New Year's kiss all lined up," he winks, and glances around the crowd, wondering if he can work out Tony's type just by looking.

Steve nods, setting his head back against the pillow. His hand goes slack where it holds Bucky’s, but he doesn’t pull back. The pads of his fingers linger on Bucky’s knuckles, and he focuses on the ceiling for a minute. He’s not sleepy, not tired like he was before, he’s just a little bit spaced out as the last of the morphine drains into his skin, replaced by pure saline for rehydration. He’s already feeling better, to be honest. He wonders when he’ll be able to go home; he’s hated hospitals. He always has.

              “Good. But Buck- you’re not obligated to stay.                You can go whenever you want, I swear.”

He doesn’t want Bucky to feel tied down because he hurt Steve; he knows what he’s like, if he’s anything like he used to be. He shifts in bed, rolls carefully onto his good side so that he can face him. Bucky can go, if eh wants to. It might break Steve all over again, but he’ll get over it.

Bucky shakes his head, and then with a small, nervous inhalation, he squeezes Steve's slack hand. His blue eyes are a little cloudy, but there are no longer lines of pain etched in his face, and that pleases something buried and old within him.

The utter kindness of the man is utterly alien to Bucky, but it stirs memories in his mind, ones that he cannot quite reach, but are no longer so harshly shut away. A soft expression makes his face look much younger, and for a moment, he doesn't look like the aged soldier that has caused so much chaos.

"I ---- I want to stay. I do. It's ---- it's the first time I've wanted something. For as long as I can remember. But thank you."

He would attempt a smile, but he's not sure he remembers how, so he just pats Steve's hand gently.

Tony hadn’t expected much to come of the nervous smile towards the other, but as he watched him make his way over, his heart stopped in his chest and he had to remember just how to breathe, trying his best not to hyperventilate over the excitement. 

Listening to his voice makes him melt a little on the inside, unbelieving of just how soft voiced he is, and how deep it is. He bites down on his lip a little, running a hand through his hair, taking a sip of his drink, wincing a little at how rough it is down his throat. He dislikes the taste of beer, always has and always will.

But he drinks it anyway, to make himself seem cooler, or with better taste.

"Yeah, lonely sounds right," Tony mused, taking another sip of his drink, wincing again at how the taste is. Looking at him with another half smile, he leans back a little, nodding his head at him.

"What about you? Lonely? Fancy chatting?"

Bucky notices the slightly wrinkling of the other's nose as he drinks, and is glad to know he's not the only person in the place who hates beer. He has always preferred vodka, though he hasn't had much of the stuff since he came back from the forces. The taste takes him back somewhere else, and he'd prefer to stay focused on the present. And the present seems a promising place with dark eyes meeting his own.

"I'm here under duress," he grins, takes a glass of something fruity from a nearby table and takes a sip, "Definitely fancy chatting. I'm Bucky."

He can't quite work out where this guy is from ---- he doesn't think he's seen him before, but Bucky's not so good at faces these days. That's more Steve's territory, with the drawing ---- though Bucky's been trying his hand at some drawing, and he's not so bad. He finds playing the piano more therapeutic than the drawing though.

At Bucky’s words, another ache settles deep in Steve’s abdomen, but this one isn’t going to go away by a nurse pushing some medication into his IV line. He knows so little about Bucky before all of this, before finding him here. He doesn’t know when they froze him, if they did it right away or if he had another purpose, at first. He doesn’t know if Bucky has gained memories before, or if he has always been ignorant. He knows so little, and its going to be months before he finds anything out, he’s sure about that. He looks over to him even as the nurse comes into the room, and squeezes his hand tightly.

            “I’m not going anywhere. Never again,              I swear. I won’t leave you.”

It’s a promise to the both of them. He’s going to stay, and he’s going to watch over Bucky, ad he’s going to help him to remember. He’s adamant of that. He explains, quietly, to the nurse what’s wrong, and she nods as she goes to get his meds. He gives Bucky a reassuring smile before she returns, needle pushing into his IV.

Bucky blinks. Before, such words would have been a threat, but he feels oddly comforted by Steve's promise. He knows the medication will make Steve feel a little more out of it, but he is there ---- there to protect the man he had meant to kill. The kindness in Steve's eyes is present as he watches him, and Bucky has no idea how he had missed it before. He does not quite dare to reach out again, but he hopes one day that he will have the courage to offer some comfort. He's not sure what Steve wants to know, how much he wants to know. All Bucky is sure of is that he somehow wants to find out everything, no matter how painful the truth.

"I'm not leaving either."

His promise is quiet, hand heating where Steve is holding it, and he tries to remember the last time someone has touched him like that. Nothing comes to mind, though he can remember squeezing a bony shoulder and looking into the same blue eyes,

"I want to stay."