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[ It's Tuesday in Avengers Tower.

A lot of the particulars of this arrangement had gone over his head, given that he'd been all but catatonic from shock and exhaustion through half of it (turns out using the Cube for a major temporal displacement actually took a lot of energy from the bearer, in this case him) but it seemed to include a lot of shouting and posturing while he'd suffered a fatal disconnect over which Steve he was supposed to back up, the tiny angry one or the big angry one. But the gist of it, explained by Howard Stark's son, is this: the Tesseract fucks with time, and sometimes deigns to answers wishes. Even those not spoken out loud. One flash of blue light later it had dumped all four of them here in the future in some kind of 'temporal bubble,' whatever the fuck that was, and it's keeping them here indefinitely.

Stark promises he's working on fixing it, but the future has things like inhalers and endless amounts of hot water, so there's that. Bucky's not in any big freaking hurry to head back to the war front in any case, even if being stuck here means staring at the frankly terrifying person who is supposedly future-him, or one possible version of future-him.

They're all under what's effectively house arrest in Stark's future robot building, given leave to go wherever they want in the Tower. They've all got their own bedrooms, their own kitchens, even their own floors if they want them, but Bucky had shown up at younger Steve's door at first opportunity and hadn't left him since.

(Part of him thought that maybe, maybe he should be throwing in with the other one, the older one with shadows under his eyes and a look on his face like someone had just kicked him in the stomach, the one Bucky remembered from Europe, but stress had brought on one of Stevie's attacks and Bucky couldn't leave him alone for that.)

He'd been kicked out eventually, though, told to go do his worrying and hovering somewhere else and take his stupid glowing alien box with him, which meant that Steve wanted some space to be upset in peace and that was fine, that was all fine, Brooklyn Steve didn't really know him since he'd been taken off to the camp and. Yeah. He's different. He's killed a lot of people since then, has watched his best friend waffle between science experiment, propaganda darling and one man army with maybe 10% of the training he needs to do the jobs they've got him doing. He's got a glowing alien box that always comes back to him, no matter how he tries to get rid of it. It bothers Steve that he's different. Not a one of them really know each other right now.

He drifts into the kitchen out of lack of anything better to do, still dressed in yesterday's clothes because he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep while Steve rasped in the bed next to him, mechanically opening cabinets and going through drawers, staring in something like hopeless frustration at the array of supposed edibles. The packages are all brightly colored and there are three kinds of everything, all declared to be low-fat or pure organic or a good source of vitamin whatever, like it wasn't possible for a guy to just get milk anymore without having to make some kind of choice about it. The labels are in every kind of language possible, of which he can only read three with his fragmentary French, Italian, and German. There's butter, more than he knows what to do with, and real meat, impossibly fresh, and the house robot has told him that if there's anything he wants that isn't there, he just has to ask for it and it'll be delivered.

All he wants is a goddamn loaf of bread and some cheese to make a sandwich, jesus. ]

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[ Bucky avoids them a lot, hiding in his own room on his own; Steve approaches him from time to time, to check in on him, to see if there's anything that he needs. But they're doing this thing where they make sure Bucky knows that this space belongs to him, that it's his own, and he can pretty much do whatever he likes.

If Steve had thought it was hard to get through to Bucky, it's even harder now on the road to recovery, when he's not sure just what he remembers and what's slipped through his memories. But he's there for him all the same, available whenever he needs him. Steve gives him space, watches over him discreetly, but even he can't miss that faint smirk that had given away his thoughts on the matter the other day.

It's difficult for all of them, he knows, and when Bucky pokes his head out of his room (finally), Steve notices. He'd been making himself coffee and a sandwich (sleepless nights are often spent puttering about the kitchen making food) when he spots him, and he pauses. ]

Hey. You're up late.

[ he freezes just a little when he hears steve's voice. being around him is simultaneously the easiest and the most confusing out of their group of displaced misfits. this is his steve, whatever that means - the one that is closer to his timeline and knows what it took for him to get here - but he's also the one that looked him in the eyes and told him to come home when his hands were wrapped around his throat.

he'll never hurt him again. never. ( not intentionally. ) but the fear is there, fear and guilt and all of the things he wants from him but doesn't know how to ask for. he doesn't really have the right to try.

he fidgets for a second, weirdly nervous when steve doesn't pose a threat, and gives a meaningless shrug. ]

Wasn't sleeping. [ doesn't really ever. a beat, and he offers: ] You are too. Coffee won't help.

[ it's a joke. maybe. interacting is hard. ]

[ Steve knows. The fear is a terrible, pervasive thing, as is the guilt -- and everytime Bucky succumbs to it, it hurts his heart. He was never the villain in all of this; only the victim, caught and forced to do so many terrible things against his will.

He knows all that he had been through; he'd seen the reports, read it from cover to cover, sickened by the way his best friend -- the most important person in his life -- had been treated. Even if Bucky didn't think he had the right to try, Steve had always gently, steadily reminded him that it's there, that he's loved above all else, and by none more than Steve Rogers.

He would love him still, right to his dying breath. (End of the line, right, pal? They'd made a promise to each other.) He smiles, just a little, tilting his head at the joke and knowing that Bucky's making an honest, sincere effort. Steve is encouraging, the smile he gives him is soft, warmer than what he gives others. He saves it just for Bucky, see; there are some things that belong only to Bucky Barnes, the entirety of Steve's heart included. ]

Neither do sleeping pills. [ Steve muses, but quietly worried all the same -- how long has Bucky stayed awake, and how terrible were the nightmares, this time? ] Do you want something to eat? I hear I make a mean turkey sandwich.

[ steve's kindness is almost as jarring as bucky's open hostility. at least with him, other him, it makes sense; the winter soldier is a monster, and he should be feared. but steve gives him warm smiles and adoration, an unconditional love that makes absolutely no fucking sense when all he's known for the last seventy years is brutality. even the younger steve is fearless around him, treats him like a real human being with a tenderness that shouldn't be spared for something like him.

he wonders, not for the first time, how they got here. not literally, because everything to do with the tesseract is bullshit and he wants nothing to do with it. but steve rogers, the punk ass kid with too big a heart - how did he end up saddled with this bag of nightmares? he deserved so much better. deserves so much more, now he's given everything and more time and time again.

but even james buchanan barnes knew the world ain't that fair. it's why he fought so hard to keep him safe - still is, now, only this time he's gotta keep steve safe from himself.

he scoffs a little on instinct, the sound a strange and foreign thing to his own ears. it's easier with him, right? he can try to follow steve's cues. ]

Go on, then. Impress me.

[ might sound like an old tease, a bit of brooklyn that never could quite be wiped from his lips. but he still keeps his distance, hands tangled in his sleeves as he steps further into the kitchen cautiously. ]

[ Steve hears it, that little touch of Brooklyn that makes his heart ache, fond and wistful all at the very same time. Sometimes it happens, when he hears the smallest hints of it slip through his words and he wants more.

He has to restrain himself, he knows; he doesn't want to scare Bucky away, not when he's so slowly, so gradually coming out of his shell; the world is never fair, never -- if it was, it would have let Steve keep his Bucky, and maybe then, they could have been happy together. But still, this is where the cards lie now, and Steve does the best he can, taking care of Bucky, drawing near no matter how many times the other tries to push him away.

Steve makes a noise of amusement, and if he minds the distance that Bucky puts between them he doesn't let on. He gets to work on that sandwich, bread and vegetables and generous turkey breast slices. ]

Challenge accepted. I make seconds, in case you get hooked enough to want more.

[ and just like that, steve helps him feel one step closer to human. not for giving him food, because he still struggles with the idea that he needs it and that he's allowed to have it without asking, and not for managing a successful exchange between the two of them when conversations are usually left to clipped words and turning away.

none of those things really matter - at least not as much as steve smiling and relaxing and welcoming him in. those are important; even if it's unhealthy and dangerous to define yourself by another person, steve's the only one that brings him back from the depths of his nightmares, the one that brings him back to life when he's as good as dead.

steve's taking care of him, preparing more food than he asked for because he knows he won't and knows he needs it. he's good to him. he isn't 'bucky' yet, might never be with the real one just down the hall - but at least for right now, he's something that matters to someone. just a little bit of winter melting away as he smiles faintly and comes a little closer. ]

Are you going to eat too?

[ Bucky is everything that matters to Steve, no matter what state he's in, no matter if he isn't feeling himself quite yet -- or even if he doesn't feel like himself anymore. Steve tries not to think too hard on that, aware that he needs to give Bucky enough space, enough time to recover on his own, to find himself again instead of imposing his own hopes (and oh, he has so many, so many; he's missed Bucky so sorely) on that recovery.

It's difficult, it's painful to know that Bucky doesn't remember, but Steve is always aware that what he endures is nowhere near the scale of Bucky's own private hell, and for him, he can be patient. He loves him, cares for him all through the violence, the nightmares, the heart-rending, soul-crushing screams he so often hears from Bucky's room in the middle of the night.

He's there when Bucky needs to hold on to someone, and he's there when Bucky chooses to walk away.

Today's a good day. Today's the day when the ice melts just a little, and Steve's heart is warmed by that little smile, the way he tentatively draws nearer. It's progress, even if they don't talk about it, and he offers the sandwich to him, fattened with meat and vegetables and everything healthy in it. Steve smiles back, warm and quietly delighted by Bucky's attempts to engage. ]

Only if you'd like me to. [ Always, always on Bucky's terms, not Steve's. ]

[ he snorts a little, 'cause the only thing he's used to giving leave for is the green light to move in on ops. but steve always, always treads lightly around him. he's grateful, ceaselessly so, that steve is patient and understanding an there for him either way, but. he wishes he could be the friend steve had and wants, one that won't startle away from him for the simplest of movements at times. this sucks.

but - today is a pretty good day, by all accounts. it only takes him a second to settle and accept the sandwich. ]

Yeah. I'd like that.

[ shouldn't feel like a small measure of victory, but he keeps his distance because he doesn't want to see disappointment in steve's eyes that only ever look at him fondly with a distant sadness he won't talk about ( doesn't need explained, he knows and he hates it ). he can manage this much. he can be a real fucking human being and have a meal with his best guy ( his only guy ) without it being some goddamn herculean feat. he used to be good at this.

he looks around the kitchen for some kind of direction, decides that if they're gonna eat properly, they'll probably need ... things. eating things. he sets his sandwich down on the counter ( bucky, no ) and moves around steve to grab two plates. while he's in the cabinet, he looks around and decides to pull down two cups too, goes to fill them with water before remembering steve made coffee already. ]

Uh. [ well. he sets the cup down and frowns. ] You don't have to drink that.

[ how do we do normal human things. ]

[ Oh, Bucky.

Steve picks up his momentarily abandoned sandwich, smooth as you please, and sets it on a plate without a fuss. The last thing he wants to do is embarrass him, and it's difficult to figure out just what would send Bucky into a retreat these days. But it's all right, sometimes it's trial and error, and it's fortunate that Steve is more attuned to him than most, despite all that's happened between them.

What Steve wants and needs is secondary to Bucky's, and he's happy to keep it that way. It's a rare, shining moment of easy conversation, of them learning to be around each other again (it's different from before, so different, but Steve tries not to think about that, too. Lately, he's trying very hard not to think about a lot of things.)

After the sandwich-rescue, he's happy to watch him putter about the kitchen, moving to accommodate, and when he fills up two cups with water Steve's smile just widens -- that right there is a normal human thing, Buck. One step at a time. ]

Gotta drink it when I'm thirsty, right? [ He takes the cup and drinks from it, his eyes twinkling with dry humor. ] Don't tell Stark I said it, but coffee's overrated.

[ there's a small uncomfortable gesture at the mention of tony, the slightest shift in his shoulders. the man makes him nervous, not half because he keeps talking about tinkering with his arm on top of all the tesseract crap, but also because of a guilt that sits heavy in his stomachs without a name to it. ( howard stark's son, and he can't - he doesn't remember but - )

but steve is still smiling, so he manages to shrug it off with a quiet pft. ]

Pretty sure he lives off the stuff.

[ always going a million miles an hour, even outside of his armor. it's too much for him to keep up with even on a good day; he doesn't know how steve does it. though - he doesn't really know how steve does any of this. he makes it seem easy, when everything down to the threadcount on their sheets manages to overwhelm him.

maybe he should ask. maybe now would be a good time, and - maybe it'll be okay to ask him. ]

D'you -

[ but. well. he's not really sure what he wants to ask, exactly. he sits down in front of his sandwich and frowns at it for a few seconds before deciding the best way to ask might just be: ]

Are you happy here?

[ What a question to ask.

Steve hesitates, smile frozen in place, dimming. They'd been having a pretty good, somewhat light-hearted conversation on the virtues of coffee, too (aside from that little thing where he mentioned Stark; Steve had made a note to mention that less). He's never been a liar, not to his enemies, and definitely not to the people he loves.

He sets the cup aside in a bid to buy a little time, to sort out the best thing to say to him because he knows Bucky's looking for something to hold on to; common ground, maybe. A place to start from. He knows it's overwhelming; Steve just had more time to get it together than Bucky did. ]

I don't know. [ Steve tries to smile again, but it's not as genuine as it was before. He doesn't remember how to be happy, not anymore. His capacity for it died with Bucky seventy years ago; the Smithsonian carrying the last happy smile he'd ever had. He had been with Bucky then, and that was all that mattered. He knows that the last thing Bucky should worry about is him. ] I'm still trying to figure that one out. But things are better now.

[ Because Bucky's here -- this important, crucial piece of Steve, the one person he still had when he'd had nothing else. Because he's found his way back to Steve, and Steve would give his life up for him a hundred, thousand times if he had to. Bucky's still recovering, but surely in time, he would come home again -- Steve just has to wait. ]

What about you? [ Since it's the question of the hour. ] Are you happy?

[ it seems like a solid answer, 'i don't know.' he watches steve too closely not to notice the weight on his shoulders, the way he's always holding himself back, strung tight as a fiddle to keep the rest of them 'safe' - whatever steve's definition is at the time. he hates that half of the time that steve spends calculating his every step, it's around him, because of him, because he's too fucked up to make it easy anymore.

for anyone at all, including himself. happiness isn't a concept for him. not now. he stares blankly at steve, says plainly: ]

I want to see you happy.

[ he figures that oughta count, right? he doesn't know what happiness is, or comfort or joy or love, but steve is all of those things in one even when he doesn't know his own name. he's the only thing that really matters in his world, so if he's happy, then that's good enough by him.

and maybe one day, after steve doesn't look so haunted by reality - maybe then he'll learn how to be happy too. ]

I am.

[ Well, more or less. He's not quite sure what it's supposed to feel like anymore, but he's very sure that he comes very close to it when he's around Bucky, when they're connecting with each other and Steve's entire world comes down to just him alone.

It doesn't matter that it's difficult, that it's painful and rough for them both -- and most especially for Bucky. Steve can dismiss his own struggles, because none of it can match up to what Bucky's been through all these years. Steve had failed him, and he has to make up for it.

He reaches out after a moment, hesitant before he puts his hand on Bucky's, flesh over metal (that arm had sickened him at first, especially after he'd realized the agony Bucky had been put through for it, the excruciating pain, the terror). But now, it's a part of him that Steve has come to love, too, for the sole reason that it's a part of him.

Steve hasn't touched him in a long, long time, and a part of him fears that Bucky will bolt -- but he has to take that chance. He attempts to smile, his eyes warm, tender. ] You make me happy. Or at least something pretty close to it -- but mine shouldn't matter as much as yours.

[ he tenses as steve reaches out to him, but he doesn't leave, doesn't pull away from the weight of his hand. it's - funny, in a hilariously unfunny way, that simple gestures like these are what make his chest tight and his face warm. seventy years of torture and mutilation, both on him and by him, and he wades through the guilt and fear of all that every single day - but it's the simple touches and gestures that do this to him, take him from a malfunctioning tool to something close to real. the younger steve does it too, both of them, because steve rogers has always held the things that keep him human.

he hates that this is what makes him feel like he might cry. it's all so stupid.

his brows furrow and his lips can't decide on frowning or smiling or simply pursing into a line, but he doesn't pull away. he stares at their hands and tries to force himself to relax and unclench his fingers, so that his hand is rested beneath steve's. not returning the touch, because he doesn't trust himself enough for that just yet, but accepting steve's as okay for now. ]

We don't have the best track record for shouldn't.

[ it's a joke, sort of, even if it comes out in a deadpan. there's lots of things they shouldn't've done, shouldn't've been, shouldn't even be here - but here, they are, ( sort of ) holding hands like a pair of saps and reminding each other that they care more about the other than anything else in the whole of creation. that there's four of 'em now doesn't seem to have changed that fact.

so maybe it is a little funny. some'a the most dangerous men alive, and they're hiding away, cooing over each other. fuckin' nerds. ]

It matters. But I'll try.

[ It's a small victory to know that Bucky doesn't draw away from him. The feeling of smooth metal underneath his fingertips is unfamiliar but not off-putting; he knows he can get used to this again, that this is Bucky, now. Sometimes he misses when they were younger -- the times back then weren't easy, but they were simpler. Steve had Bucky, he had nothing else but, and everything else to prove to the world that saw little guys like them as liabilities, people to be stepped on.

He makes a soft noise under his breath, a half-chuckle as he squeezes his hand very gently. His touch lingers, before he pulls away to push the plate back to him. They have time, he wants to tell him. They have time with each other now, and all that Bucky needs to re-learn himself, to re-learn them. There are many things that he's sure he doesn't remember, but it doesn't matter. It'll come back to him, and Steve will make sure of it.

This is okay. This is as far as they can go -- Steve doesn't want to push too far, and his smile is wider, happier when he takes another drink from his cup. ]

Yeah, we don't. [ His eyes are wistful, now -- they were so many things they shouldn't be, not in the world they were in, and to know it makes his heart ache even now. ] I remember how you used to get me out of trouble. Finished some of my fights for me as well.

[ And hey, they can coo at each other like the giant nerds that they are -- they're the youngest-looking old men alive. That Bucky is trying is important to him, and maybe soon, soon, Steve could hope for more. ] C'mon, finish it up, you still haven't told me if you liked it.

[ drawn like a magnet, his hand moves the second steve's does in the same direction before he realizes what he's doing and immediately pulls it off the table entirely, tucked safely into his lap. safe for steve, mostly; reaching for him is an instinct, one he has near constantly and keeps having to tamp down. it's confusing and alarming and only ever makes sense when he sees bucky jostling one or the other playfully.

he wants to touch steve like that too, but he has to learn how. he has to learn so many things. ]

S'alright.

[ like humor and teasing. he even manages to look up at steve for this joke, even though it's still deadpanned and his hands are in his lap like a chastised child. baby steps. ]

Thank you.

[ Baby steps.

Steve pretends not to notice, because the quickest way to make Bucky retreat is, of course, to call attention to it. Bucky's trying, of course, they all know that, and he appreciates it. They'll take it slow, and Steve will show him that it's okay to to touch him, a little at a time.

He smiles at that, because he catches that one, amused. ]

Ready for those seconds, huh? [ He pats his shoulder and starts to make one more, because God knows Bucky's metabolism works just like his does, too. ] Have you spoken to the other... us, yet?

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your bucky is so beautiful and so sad T_T

lmfhakfba thank you, he my favourite sad panda ;;

gently touches him c:

weh your steve is so good too someone needs to hug the poor man :c

come hug him, bucky :c

he's working on it :c

/gently smushes them together c:

C:

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