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The problem is, Steve doesn’t know how to get people to stop worrying about him. It’s disconcerting, really. Steve grew up with exactly two people who ever expressed concern over his well-being. His mother and Bucky. As it turns out, neither of them displayed concern in the way everyone else seems to.
When his mother was worried, she’d grab his hands tightly in hers and meet his eyes. “You’re going to make it through this, Steve,” she would say, mouth a tight line, but her eyes were kind, the corners slanting upwards in a silent smile. “You are going to make it through this and the next thing too, because that’s what you were born for, my beautiful baby boy, you were born to be a hero.” Then she’d press a hard kiss to his temple.
Bucky was different. He’d cuff Steve on the back of the head and scoff. “Come on, Rogers. You’re not going to let this get you down, are you? We’ve got so much more trouble to get in, don’t you know it?” Then he’d grab Steve’s wrist and tug Steve after him.
Even laid up in bed, it was Steve’s mother tutting in disapproval, as if she could simply shame his illness out of him. “This flu doesn’t know who it’s up against,” she’d promise. “You show it just what you’re made of, Steve,” as if he could beat out the flu the same way he’d take on a bully in an alley.
Bucky would just kick his dirty shoes up onto the edges of Steve’s sheet and smirk. “I know you’re just playing it up, pal. Ms. Larner’s Civil War lesson put half the class. Don’t think I don’t know you’re hiding out in here just to escape it. Low blow, Stevie, leaving your best pal out in the rain like that.”
Now, though, now it’s different. Well, sort of. The SHIELD agents he works closely with stare at him with forlorn eyes as if at any moment Steve might swoon from the hardship of it all. From being the only person left who remembers his own life. Natasha and Sam, though, seem to have grown up in the same realm of caring that Steve did, and their comfort is a balm to the sticky sweetness that is drowning him.
It only gets worse when Steve confesses to the SHIELD therapist assigned to him that he isn’t afraid of the water like she assumes, but rather that he finds solace in it. The way her entire body goes rigid clues Steve in that this isn’t the kind of thing people want to hear. Doesn’t make it not true.
It’s just, he’s not expecting that when he shares this information with Tony in one of their impromptu fights over who the hell knows what, Tony clams right up. Once second they’re shouting at each other, the next, Steve is saying something to the effect of, “I’d rather be under water than here with you. At least it’s fucking quite there,” and Tony falls perfectly, utterly silent for the first time ever, to Steve's knowledge.
Steve would be self congratulating at finally getting the billionaire to shut up if it wasn’t so uncomfortable. The other Avengers keep their gazes studiously averted to the conference room table. Five unbroken minutes of silence later, Steve pushes away from the table and leaves, shoulders hunched up somewhere around his ears.
He doesn’t understand, particularly, what he’s done wrong, but the feeling of being utterly alone here, in this time and place, is threatening to swallow him whole. Sam comes running out after him, catching up to Steve as he heads down into the subway, a hand wrapping around his elbow.
“So, water?”
Steve shrugs, afraid to say the wrong thing again and risk the easy friendship he cherishes with Sam.
“You got plans this weekend?” Sam asks.
Steve lifts a brow. “The only plans I’ve got are for when the world goes to shit again.”
Sam grins. “Cool. Then I’ve got a place to take you to, if you’re game.”
Steve bobs his head in affirmation, relief slipping over his shoulders like a cool breeze.
~~~~~~~~
What Steve isn’t expecting is the plane trip to Georgia. What he isn’t expecting is to be cowed into accepting a lift in Tony’s private jet. “It’s a waste of fossil fuel,” Steve argues heatedly.
Natasha quells him with a look. “Steve, this is Tony being nice. Tony. Do you seriously think it’s a good idea to shun that kindness?”
“Natasha, come on,” Steve grouses.
She shifts a look to Sam who shrugs. “She’s right, man. The guy is going to internalize that shit so fast, Captain America shutting down the first nice thing he has ever offered to do for the guy his dad worshiped to the extent of making Tony feel second best – “
Steve’s shoulders slump. “Guilt trip,” he mutters under his breath.
Sam beams, slinging an arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Damn straight.”
Natasha waves them off from air strip, grinning as the morning light glints off her sunglasses.
It takes two hours to get to the Atlanta Airport, most of which Steve spends losing spectacularly at Gin Rummy. When they step out of the terminal, Steve isn’t prepared for the heat. It’s fall in New York which means the weather is inching its way down from the seventies to the sixties and occasionally dipping into the fifties. In Atlanta, it’s still a humid eighty.
Steve tugs off his leather jacket as he follows Sam to the rental car side of the airport parking lot. Sam makes a show of stretching his arms over his head, dragging pointed attention to the short sleeve shirt he’d worn and the shorts that end at his knees. Steve makes a face at the back of his head, tugging useless at the cuffs of his own long sleeve shirt.
“This one,” Sam directs, nodding his head at the black economy sized car he’s rented out for the duration of their weekend in Atlanta.
When Sam pops the trunk, Steve slings both of their duffle bags into it, closes it with a soft slam. He crosses to the passenger side, sliding in and immediately moving the seat back so that he’s not crunched up against the dashboard, folded like an origami crane.
As Sam turns the ignition, he also flicks on the AC, slipping a smirk in Steve’s direction. “In case the heats getting to you.”
Steve laughs, tilting his head against the head rest. It feels like the first time he’s smiled in days.
Sam smirks at him, turning on the radio and pushing through the preset stations, criticizing the last renter’s choice in music as he does so. And it feels good, it feels real, it feels like Steve is grounded in the present rather than a ghost watching the world turn around him.
Ten minutes later, accelerating onto the interstate, Sam gripping the steering wheel in the ten and two position and keeping his eyes strictly on the pavement, says, “You know we’re going to find him, right?”
Steve blows out a slow breath, letting his head rest against the seat, lulling it to the side to stare out the window as the scenery flashes by. “I keep thinking,” he says quietly, “what if he doesn’t want to be found? I don’t want to be – I can’t be another person hunting him.”
Sam is quiet and Steve worries it means he agrees. Finally Sam huffs out a soft sigh. “I don’t know what to tell you, man. I’m going to support you whatever you decide. Where you lead, I follow.”
Steve’s heart lifts infinitesimally from the depths of his soles where it seems to have taken up residence since he was unfrozen. “Thank you, Sam.”
The side of Sam’s mouth quirks up in a smile. “Course, Steve.”
After that, Steve closes his eyes and lets the oldies channel Sam settled on drift him into a restless sort of weightlessness. It’s not that Steve doesn’t want to find Bucky, there is nothing left in this world that Steve wants more than to be reunited with Bucky. Only things aren’t that simple. They haven’t had a lead on Bucky in months, literal months. Steve knows it’s because Bucky caught on that people were looking for him.
It’s the deliberateness of Bucky covering his tracks so effectively that there aren’t any that gives Steve serious pause. Steve knows what it is to want to remain unfound. The first six months after SHIELD woke him up, Steve wanted nothing else than to have been left unfound, buried deep in the ocean.
That choice was taken from him and he can’t bring himself to do the same to Bucky. He just can’t. He doesn’t know what Bucky remembers, if Bucky remembers anything at all, but to Steve it doesn’t even matter. Whoever Bucky is now, whoever he has become, Steve is going to love him just as helplessly as he loved Bucky when they were six years old.
He knows that worries SHIELD too, that Steve is unbearably loyal to a murderer. It scares Steve too, to know that no matter what shape Bucky took, Steve would love him anyway, try to protect him. Sam knows, Sam saw it all play out. Sam had warned him away as best he could.
“I don’t think he’s the kind you save . . . he might not give you a choice . . .”
And Steve, well, he reaches up a hand, probing at the only scar he’s earned since the serum. It’s a faint line bisecting the very edge of his left eyebrow, barely visible to the human eye. Maybe it’s enough, he thinks, to know that he’s sharing this world with Bucky. Maybe he can let Bucky go, if that’s what Bucky wants, if that’s what’s best for Bucky. Maybe he can do that.
“Where are we going?” Steve asks, opening his eyes and letting the afternoon sun blind him momentarily.
“You’re just now asking?” Sam teases. “Could be taking you to meet my great-grandmother for all you know.”
“Bet she’d be a nice lady to meet,” Steve offers.
“You better believe it, buddy,” Sam assures. “But, nah, that’s not where we are going.”
“Then where?”
“It’s a surprise, Steve, remember what those are?” Sam flashes him a smile.
Steve smiles back tiredly. “Sorta hazy, but I’ve got the general impression.”
Sam’s right hand lets go of the steering wheel to punch solidly at Steve’s shoulder. “Asshole. Don’t know why I put up with your hulking mass.”
“Hey,” Steve defends, “body shaming is frowned upon in this car.”
“Uh-huh, that Adonis sculpture you call a body sure is a shame. Bet your mama would just weep at the sight of you know, her little Steve all grown up.”
Steve wonders momentarily if it will hurt, thinking about what his mother would think of him now, in this century he doesn’t belong in. It doesn’t, though, instead, it curves his lips in a loose smile. “She’d tell me to keep fighting,” Steve confides. “Say she knew I was going to show my body what was what eventually.”
“That’s good, man,” Sam says, “real good.”
Steve shrugs. “Beats hacking to death every winter.”
“I’m sure,” Sam agrees.
~~~~~~~~
It takes them another ten minutes to reach their destination and when they do, well, Steve just stares. “This is just a preview,” Sam cautions as Steve gapes up at the huge fish shaped ‘G.’ “Cuz you’re my main squeeze, I got you late night access.”
“I don’t . . . “ Steve trails off, dragging his attention away from the building and to his best friend. “It doesn’t upset you that I . . .” but the words just seem to die off.
Sam gives Steve’s shoulder a hard shake. “There is nothing wrong with you, man. Everybody deals with the shit they go through in different ways. You wanna be under water, this is the best I can offer you right now.”
Steve’s heart is thudding along steadily in his chest, but his mind is whirling at about a hundred miles an hour. “Sam, I – thank you. Thank you for this.”
Sam smiles. “Course, Steve.”
~~~~~~~~
As promised, Steve and Sam pull back into the parking lot of the Georgia Aquarium at eight thirty that night. Their two duffle bags are taking up residence in the upper scale hotel room that Sam booked for them. It’s got a nice pool and the shower pressure is amazing. Not that Steve is thinking about his accommodations, he’s busy following after Sam as he leads the way to the large doors of the aquarium.
“Did you have to pay them to keep it open?” he asks, trying not to imagine the amount of money Sam would have had to fork over for that.
“Not a dime,” Sam reassures him. “They just wanted some signed stuff to put up in lobby and a couple of photos of me oohing and ahhing over the exhibits.”
“Just you?” Steve hedges, not that he would mind signing anything or posing for pictures.
Sam quirks a grin over his shoulder. “Just so happens I’m a superhero, Steve. Now, I don’t want you to feel all overshadowed by my presence or anything, but these people, they might not even notice you standing next to me.”
Steve smiles back, the tension in his shoulders relaxing. “I heard you can fly, mister, that true?”
“You bet your little red, white, and blue heart it is, Sunny Jim.” Sam pops a salute in his direction, walking backwards. Behind him, the doors to the aquarium lobby are pulled open by a man and woman in matching blue polos and khakis.
“Mr. Wilson, we’re so glad you contacted us,” the woman greets with a smile, her long brown hair pulled back in a low ponytail.
“Sam,” he offers, smiling back at her. “And this is my friend Steve.”
Both employees smile in Steve’s direction. He offers an awkward wave. “Hi, nice to meet you.”
“I’m Doug Lasher,” the man introduces himself. “We’re keeping the aquarium open an extra hour as we discussed, I hope that’s enough time?”
“Plenty,” Sam assures. “We really appreciate you doing this for us.”
“It’s no problem at all,” the woman says. “I’m Rosa Santiago. I’ll be available to show you around, unless you would like to explore by yourselves.”
They’ve moved into the actual aquarium itself and Steve feels excitement tripping along his nerves. He’s never been to an aquarium before; growing up, there had been the New York Aquarium in Battery Park at the Castle Garden, but he’d never gone. He knows the aquarium is relocated near Coney Island now, but he hasn’t been back to Coney Island since the fateful trip with Bucky when he rode the Cyclone and lost. Doesn’t seem right, somehow, to go back there without Bucky.
“What’s it going to be, soldier?” Sam asks. “We exploring on our own or letting our gracious hosts take us on a tour.”
Steve’s just kind of frozen, wanting to be everywhere in the aquarium at once. Finally he decides, “Can you show me the best part?”
Rosa beams. “I would absolutely love to show you the best part.” She beckons them with a hand and Steve follows eagerly after, Sam at his side.
Whatever Steve was expecting, it’s not what he gets. There is no way anything he imagined could possibly compare to the Ocean Voyager exhibit. The huge acrylic tunnel curving overhead, the ocean animals swimming above him and all around. Steve falters, feet failing to move him forward as he stares in wonder.
It’s amazing, breath taking. It’s exactly what Steve needed, exactly where he so desperately wanted to be. Steve takes a deep breath, feeling the air fill his lungs, and it feels like the first time he can breathe since waking up. Though the tunnel is quiet, the noises of the ocean held back by the glass, Steve can hear it anyway. The gentle swells of the water, the disruption as the fish swim past. Everything is a soft glowing blue, the overhead lights reminiscent of the sun filtering down through the water.
When he reconnects with the world around him, Rosa is explaining that the tank was built specifically to be able to house whale sharks, the largest fish in the world. Sam is nodding along, asking question to keep the ball rolling, and slowly they are drifting down the tunnel farther away from Steve.
But that’s okay, that’s great even. Steve sits down on the floor, folding his legs crisscross and leaning back on his palms. He stares up at the tank above, letting everything else in his life fall away as he submerges himself in the water.
He can’t seem to explain it to anyone else, what it had been like in the water. There hadn’t been panic as the plane sank. He had crashed into the ocean knowing he had accomplished what he had promised to do. He had stopped Hydra. His friends were safe. He got to say goodbye to Peggy. He was following after Bucky.
And it had been so quiet, just the sounds of the water as it claimed the plane for its own. The glass in the cockpit had cracked and water had gurgled in fast and ferocious. Steve had closed his eyes, held his breath, and allowed himself to rest.
Waking up had been nothing like the cool pull of the water that had lulled him to sleep. It had been harsh, and bright, and loud, and painful. Waking up had ripped apart everything he had believed in when he fell asleep. Waking up had been the cruelest defeat he had ever endured.
Hydra wasn’t gone. His friends weren’t safe. Peggy didn’t get her goodbye. Bucky wasn’t there to be followed. A blink of an eye and everything shattered into a million shards that cut at Steve in every waking moment. Sleep was the only place he was left alone, because when he closed his eyes, the cool waters came crashing back down, submerging him in peace.
Steve lies back, stretching his legs out in front of him. One arm drifts upward, drawing a curling line above him, tracing the path of a spotted ray as it glides along, fins moving up and down like wings.
To the left, the impressive shape of a whale shark makes its way towards Steve’s spot. Its huge, powerful tail propelling it smoothly through the water. Steve grins, watching the whale shark’s progress, marveling at the beauty the world holds.
Steve doesn’t keep track of the time as he lies there, watching the ocean carry on above him. He lets himself drift along with the fish, carried along their meandering path as they wind their way through the calm waters. The blue light suffuses the space around him, leaving Steve feeling cosseted and held. The lights above, the simulacrum of the sun, dazzles him through the rippling water when he tilts his head to the side to trail his gaze after a school of fish.
Eventually, he hears footsteps coming toward him. When Steve looks over, Sam settles down beside him, stretching out just like Steve is. “So, what do you think?” Sam asks.
Steve grins. “I think I found what makes me happy.”
~~~~~~~~
They can’t stay at the aquarium forever, as much as Steve would like to, and they leave with profuse thanks to Rosa and Doug, along with a slew of signed items and pictures of Steve and Sam displaying general awe at the aquarium. When they get back to the hotel, Steve is lost in thoughts of the ocean and the animals he had watched.
He pulls his sketch book from his duffel and sets about recreating as much of the experience as he can. On the bed next to his, Sam quietly turns on the television, keeping the volume low as he clicks through the channels until he finds one playing a basketball game.
Time slips by in a stream of meaningless seconds. By the time Steve looks up again, it’s half past midnight and Sam is dozing, still clothed, on top of the covers of his bed. Steve flips the top of his sketch book shut before tossing his spare pillow at Sam’s stomach.
Sam blinks awake with a startled inhale. “What the hell, man,” he grouses, squinting in the light of the room. “I was having a perfectly R-rated dream until you disrupted it.”
Steve shrugs apologetically. “Just trying to keep you pure, Sam. Save it for the wedding night and all that.”
Sam flips him off as he rolls off the bed. “Just for that, I’m going to wake up extra early and use up all the hot water before your dumbass can even contemplate a shower.”
Steve laughs, hauling his shirt off over his head and slinging it in the general direction of his duffel bag. “Petty is as petty does, Sam. That really the kind of person you want to be?”
“Hell yes it is,” Sam retorts as he slams the door shut to the bathroom.
As Steve falls asleep that night, he dreams of swimming alongside the whale shark. Of running his hand over the smooth sinew of the spotted ray’s fins. Of tangling his hand in Bucky’s and floating silently beside him.
~~~~~~~~
Tony’s plane touching back down in New York is a rude reminder for Steve that he can’t spend the rest of his life spread out beneath an ocean aquarium. Instead, he has to deal with the fallout of a broken down SHIELD, the echoing silence of his too sterile apartment, and the hollow place in his chest that is the exact size and shape of one James Buchannan Barnes.
It’s almost worse, now that Steve knows what it takes for him to find solace. But it’s not exactly as if he can go around booking private showings of every aquarium in the tri-state area. Well, he probably could, but somehow, that feels a lot more like hiding than it does moving forward in his life.
Steve is wincing his way through another Wednesday when Natasha shows up at his apartment at six in the evening. Steve isn’t expecting her and he’s camped out in front of his TV, in a pair of grey sweats, wearing a black t-shirt with the Falcon’s wings emblazoned on the front, watching the Deep Ocean episode of Planet Earth.
Natasha’s knock is three staccato raps that remind Steve of gun fire. He plucks solemnly at his sweat pants, peers down at his feet, one sock is on, the other is lost beneath the couch, and sighs. What if Natasha wants to do something horrendous like make Steve leave the house? He’ll have to find his other sock. He’ll have to change into actual pants.
Still, it is his duty as her friend to answer the door, so he maneuvers himself as slowly as possible to the door, hoping she’ll think he’s not home in the interim it takes him to get there. Instead, she shouts through the door, “Get your ass off the couch already, Steve. This thing isn’t getting any lighter.”
Steve can’t begin to imagine what, exactly, isn’t getting any lighter, but he obliges, wrenching the door open and standing back. Natasha storms in carrying a large glass container. She sets it down on his kitchen table with an aggrieved sigh before trooping back into the hallway and returning moments later with a bulging plastic bag.
Steve looks bewilderedly from the glass container, to the plastic bag, to Natasha. She lifts an unimpressed eyebrow. “Sam told me you liked the Georgia Aquarium.”
“I did,” Steve agrees, eyes flickering towards his paused TV screen.
Natasha sets down the bag beside the glass container, jerking her head towards both items. “Since Sam already did the big dazzling thing, I thought I’d go the smaller yet heart-warming route.”
Steve blinks. “Thanks?”
“It’s a fish tank, Rogers,” Natasha explains with a judgmental frown. “You know, your own personal aquarium.”
“But I . . . I don’t have any fish,” Steve says, looking blankly around his apartment as if he can pop goldfish into existence just by wanting it enough.
“Not yet,” Natasha corrects. She opens the plastic bag and pulls out a scuba diver attached to a treasure chest. “His name is Clint the Second,” she explains.
Steve grins, shutting the door to the apartment and moving to stand next to Natasha. “Did you have to custom order a purple one?”
“Please,” Natasha huffs, “Clint ordered it.”
“Thanks,” he says, earnest as he rests his hand on Natasha’s. “For,” he pauses to gesture at the aquarium supplies but also Natasha herself, “all of this.”
She flashes him a brilliant smile. “Of course. I’m not going to be out played by Wilson. I met you first; I have dibs at stake here.”
~~~~~~~~
Over the following months, Steve amasses a few varieties of fish to populate his fish tank. He carefully researches what types of fish can cohabitate and how many can live comfortable in his fish tank. He covers the bottom of the tank in white stones and spends a long time deciding on what the appropriate types of plants are to grow inside the tank.
Sam grins every time he catches sight of the fish tank in its place of glowing importance at the end of the living room. “Hobbies are good,” he says when he first sees it. “Hobbies are real good.”
It’s not just a hobby though. It becomes Steve’s peace place, the place in his apartment where he goes when things start building up and he needs to reset, needs to find himself back in that comforting blue water. The tank’s filter burbles cheerful, the fish swim gracefully between the plants and around little purple Clint the Second who stands guard over the front left corner of the tank.
And it’s good. Steve’s life is good. It’s not great. There aren’t any leads on the Winter Soldier and Steve doesn’t think he’d follow them even if there were. SHIELD is still a crumbling mess that is lashing out trying to place blame on everyone and anyone except for the people it truly belongs to. Steve still gets low, still finds himself bombarded with the loudness of everyday life, the exhaustion of finding things to look forward to in this new world, but instead of trudging along like living is a mission rather than a chance at something real, Steve is working his way towards the easy glide of his fish.
In January, Steve is in his customary arm chair situated to face his fish tank. He’s reading The Every Boy by Dana Adam Sharpiro and running through all the parts of the book he likes and all the parts that he doesn’t. He’s got a dictionary of quotes he wants to talk to Sam about. When he reads the last page, he texts Sam that he’s coming over because even though he knows it’s true, has known since page one that Henry Every would die, it just doesn’t feel real. Henry can’t be dead, he has always been too alive.
Afterwards, the sky is an inky black as Steve walks toward his building, The Every Boy tucked securely under his arm. Sam’s insight had been useful, but Steve still hasn’t quite digested the story yet. He’s thinking about propping the book up somewhere near the fish tank, like the self portrait Henry had taped to his father’s tank.
The fish, like the Irukandji jelly fish in the book, will learn to recognize the image staring back at them. The dark blue background and the jellyfish suspended in the middle of it. And Steve can use it as a reminder not to live in daydreams of what might have been, but rather the world around him, the world that is telling him not to let his life be the one that got away. It fits, in a way, with what Jorden had told Henry. Consequently, putting the book there will feel like a fitting memorial to Henry Every and Steve himself.
Which is why, Steve’s not paying attention as he takes the stairs to his tenth floor apartment, wrapped up in his thoughts of the book and what he wants it and doesn’t want it to mean to him. He’s not paying attention to the figure sagging outside his doorway. He’s not paying attention until he fumbles for his keys and they fall next to a battered pair of Converse.
Steve jerks back, keys still on the grey carpet, The Every Boy clattering down to rest beside them. He stares, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.
The figure against the wall tips his baseball hat up, just enough that Steve can see his eyes, grey-blue and exhausted. “Hey, Steve.”
“Heya, Buck,” Steve replies on autopilot.
As if the words cost him the very last of his energy, Bucky slides down the wall until he’s sitting with his back pressed against it and his feet spread out wide before him. To Steve’s surprise, his heart continues its steady beat in his chest even though his thoughts are a wild fire.
Bucky is here. Here, outside Steve’s house, looking like absolute hell, with no indication of his memories or current mindset, and Steve knows he should call for backup in case things go south, but instead, he sinks down the wall next to Bucky, so close that their shoulders are pressing into each other.
Bucky takes a deep breath, tipping his head back against the wall. “I’m really tired, Steve.”
“Yeah,” Steve agrees because it’s been close to a year since Steve last saw Bucky on the hellicarrier and he can’t imagine any other feeling to cover that than tired.
Bucky takes Steve’s agreement as open permission to rest his head on Steve’s shoulder. Steve reaches across Bucky’s lap and ensnares their fingers together. “I missed you,” Bucky says, voice croaky, whether from disuse or emotion Steve isn’t sure.
“Missed you so much,” Steve breathes out, squeezing tightly at Bucky’s hand. “Every second of every day since you’ve been gone.”
“Even under the water?” Bucky asks.
Steve pauses, running his thumb over the backs of Bucky’s knuckles. He’s not sure how to put into words his time in the water, just like he is unsure every time he tries to. He thinks, though, if anyone is ever going to understand that part of him, it will be Bucky. Bucky has always understood Steve, after all. “Dreamt you were there with me.”
“Was it a nice dream?”
“The best.”
~~~~~~~~
Later, Steve will tell Bucky that he loves him, no exceptions, loves him without restraint. Later, Steve will help Bucky wash off the grim that coats him from head to toe. Later, Bucky will pull him in close, rest Steve’s head against his chest and tell Steve that his heart beats for Steve alone, the way it has done since they were kids. Later.
Right now, Steve draws Bucky to his feet, picks up his keys from the carpet, hands Bucky The Every Boy, and leads the way into his apartment. He tangles his free hand with Bucky’s metal one and draws his best friend over to the welcoming blue glow of his aquarium.
“In my dreams, you’ve always been right here with me,” he tells Bucky.
Bucky squeezes Steve’s hand tightly, body leaning up hard against Steve. “You always liked the water.”
“I always liked you more.” Steve turns until his profile is caught in the soft blue light of the aquarium and he leans forward until his mouth is centimeters from Bucky’s. “I love you, Bucky. Always have, always will.”
Bucky’s smile is so tired it twists Steve’s heart. Still, Bucky leans forward so his lips are brushing Steve’s as he says, “Love you right back, Stevie. Thanks for letting me come back to you.”
“Always,” Steve promises before pressing his lips softly to Bucky’s.
Behind them, the aquarium burbles peacefully, the fish swim past the glass in quick graceful loops, and Clint the Second stands cheerful guard over his plastic chest of treasure.