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Steve thought losing Bucky was the worst thing he’d have to live through. But he’s learned that the world is nothing if not inventive in the kind of awful shit it can pile on you, so now he knows that having Bucky back is even worse. Having him be alive, even well (for loose definitions of the word), working for the same organization for the greater good, and want absolutely nothing to do with Steve…that’s a punch to the gut he didn’t see coming.
He tries to let it lie, tells himself that Bucky will come to him when he’s ready. But it’s been almost a year, and the most he’s seen of Bucky since that night they brought him in are blurry surveillance photos during mission recaps. He’s fighting the good fight, just like Steve, though a more shadowy and clandestine version, but they might as well still be oceans and decades apart.
Natasha has history with him, and she’s even been on some of these present day missions with him, but the set of her mouth tells Steve that he’ll get nothing from asking her. Not even a crumb of information.
It gets to a guy. Once they take care of the threat of the week, Steve puts in a formal request for leave, and then he…just leaves. He takes his bike and just drives for a while. He’s not sure how long he can go without sleep. It’s a long time, probably, but he’s not going to put other drivers at risk for the experiment. He drives for most of the night, then takes a room at a small roadside motel and tries not to think about anything.
The next morning, he decides where he wants to go. Dum Dum was buried in Boston, and he wants to be there. He has a dossier on the Howling Commandos in his StarkPhone, and suddenly it’s a trip to visit the graves of all the commandos buried on American soil. It seems a little morbid, but he’s mostly a little horrified that he hasn’t been to any of them yet. Life has been busy; it’s a whole new world out there, but he needs to take time to pay respects to the past. It’s the right thing to do.
It’s hard to see how new the grave looks. The stone is clean and polished, and there’s a bouquet on the ground, a little red toy truck sitting on top of the stone. He’s only been dead for a few years. Steve brushes his fingers gently over the truck; left by a grandchild, maybe? He drops to one knee and bows his head, and slowly becomes aware that he’s being watched.
The next grave he visits is Morita’s. This one is a little older, and Steve is glad he remembered to stop and buy flowers. He lays them carefully at the base of the stone and kneels again. After a few moments, he stands and turns, squinting at the line of trees at the edge of the cemetery. He can’t see him, but he knows he’s there.
"You should pay your respects," he says, clasping his hands together, at-rest. "I’ll wait in the parking lot for a few minutes, so you don’t have to worry about losing my trail."
Slowly, Bucky emerges from the trees. Steve feels a tiny thrill in his chest; he’d thought that would draw him out, but it seems that he doesn’t know Bucky anymore.
Bucky’s dressed down, just like he is; a worn pair of jeans and a black leather jacket, with black gloves. His hair is still long, longer than Steve had ever seen it, but it’s clean and brushed. The rest of him is still painfully Bucky.
"I wouldn’t have lost you." Bucky folds his arms across his chest, and Steve keeps his eyes resolutely on Bucky’s face, so he won’t search for hints of metal under the sleeve.
"I know." Steve finally has Bucky in front of him, speaking, and he doesn’t know what to say. "Hard to believe they’re gone, huh?"
"Not that hard," Bucky says. He crosses past Steve to the grave anyway, carefully resting his gloved fingers against it. "You shouldn’t run off like this."
Steve’s chest clenches up, like the precursor to an asthma attack in his other life. “Did SHIELD send you to bring me back?”
Bucky shakes his head. “They trust you.”
"But you don’t?"
"Fuck, Steve." Bucky jerks his hand away from the stone before he clenches it. Steve wonders how much damage he’s done without meaning to, how long it took for him adapt to this. "I’m trying to do the right thing here, and you’re making it so hard."
"The right thing? Seriously?" Steve shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket. There’s been so much he rehearsed in his head, at night when he couldn’t sleep. "You died, and now somehow we’re both here, and you ignore me. I…if you didn’t…if you don’t want me anymore, you could have told me to my face. I can handle it.”
Bucky laughs, harsh and a little ragged. “Because I’m a great catch now. Look, we got nothing in common anymore. You’re the hero, and I’m the boogeyman. The world’s your fucking oyster, you can have anyone you want. I’m not going to hold you back.”
Steve stares at him. “If you’re not going to, then someone ought to before I slug you. I don’t want anybody else, Buck, how could you think that?”
Bucky hunches his shoulders and glances back toward the grave. “Do we have to do this here?”
Steve has to actually laugh at that. “Where better? You know Morita would cuff us both for being so stupid. I gotta say, he’d probably do you harder.”
Bucky snorts. “He always did. Fine. What are you saying? You want to shack up and settle down, put each other down as next of kin on SHIELD forms, get a golden retriever? You wanna buy a big ol’ bed and share it with an assassin and his fucking night terrors? You want to always be a little afraid when I open up the knife drawer, always go on your guard when you realize I’m not in the bed, for the rest of our lives, however preternaturally long they are?”
“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “Especially the dog part. Though a cat might be better, we’re both gone a lot.”
Bucky stares at him. Steve takes a step closer, and carefully takes Bucky’s hand. He can feel the warmth, even through the glove.
"You’ve been gone a long time, Buck," he says. "But I can’t believe you forgot about me. Steve Rogers, remember? Little wheezey punk who always bit off more than he could chew?"
"Always," Bucky grumbles. "You don’t know how much you’re biting off this time, Steve, swear to god. You’re gonna choke on me."
But he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t even flinch as Steve gets closer and closer, until finally, finally they’re kissing. His mouth is warm, still generous and welcoming, and as soon as their lips touch, it’s like a switch has been flipped. Bucky kisses him like he’s drowning, and Steve is the only source of air. Steve is happy to give it to him.
When they break apart, Bucky frowns. He looks like he’s going to say something, probably something stupid, so Steve squeezes his hand instead. “I still want to go visit Gabe. You want to come with me? Officially, not just stalking me.”
"S’called surveillance." Bucky makes a face, but he nods. And he doesn’t let go of Steve’s hand. "Yeah. We ought to. We owe it to them."
Steve thinks they owe it, not just to the commandos but to themselves, to take advantage of this world they somehow found each other in, to accept the second chance. To be happy. But they can talk about it later. They’ve got time.