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[endsinafight]

It was the sound of a quiet pinging noise that woke him from a restless sleep. He opened his eyes, blinking a few times against the faint light filtering into the bedroom from the closed blinds. Steve was curled up beside him, head resting on Bucky's shoulder. He exhaled, letting his eyes drift shut again until the pinging noise sounded once more, and he groaned.

"Someone's trying to get a hold of you, Steve," he grumbled, burying his face in the pillow.

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[endsinafight]

It felt like an endearment, too, light and teasing the way they'd always been whilst growing up together. He wasn't surprised by Steve's detour. "We can grab some before we head North," he suggested, hoisting himself up and onto the counter with ease. Sure enough, Monet had already returned to her own bowl of food, munching on it happily and he shook his head.

"She definitely has your appetite." He smirked, watching Steve peruse the contents of the refrigerator.

[littleguyfrombrooklyn]

“That’s my girl,” Steve grinned at her and then at Bucky. “Want anything?”

He got a pound of turkey out of the fridge and just started eating it plain.

“It’s nice to have enough food,” he said, softly. “Especially since I need obscene amounts now. “

[endsinafight]

He should eat, probably. Aside from the little bit of hummus he'd had earlier, he hadn't eaten in awhile. Since breakfast, actually. And yet, the idea of food right now still made him feel queasy, the conversations from Tony's lab and the thought of the files down the hall making his stomach a nervous knot of nerves. "Nah. I'm good." He leaned back a little, watching as Steve dug into the turkey, making him grimace a little.

Unable to stop himself, he hopped off the counter, looking through the cabinets until he found a plate, setting it on the countertop he'd just vacated and plucking the turkey from Steve's hands. "I'm gonna make you a sandwich," he informed him.

[littleguyfrombrooklyn]

Steve pouted playfully, but he let it happen—mostly. He leaned over Bucky and snagged one piece of turkey and then backed off.

He stuck half of it in his mouth and gave the other half to Monet. She was delighted.

“You and me,” he said to her. “We’re lovers of the simple life. Don’t need no fancy sandwiches.”

[endsinafight]

Bucky gave him a playful glare before moving to the fridge to pull out cheese, mayo, lettuce and tomato. "Yeah we'll see if you're saying that in about three minutes," he informed him, tossing Monet a piece of cheese to go with her turkey. He grabbed the Hawaiian bread off the counter, tugging it open and cutting a thick slice of bread in half and laying it on the plate, putting together a thick sandwich in a few quick moments, admiring it before handing the plate to Steve.

Monet sat at his feet, wagging her tail and clearly hoping for more treats.

"You eat. I'm gonna grab a quick shower," he told Steve, heading for the living room and grabbing the backpack off the sofa before disappearing down the hall.

[littleguyfrombrooklyn]

Steve took the sandwich happily.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said. He took a bite as Bucky was leaving the kitchen and he made a happy noise.

“This is incredible!” he called out, scarfing it down. He gave Monet an apologetic look—it was too tasty for dogs.

[endsinafight]

He smiled a little at the compliment, already planning to put his cooking skills to use when they're up north, assuming the rustic cabin of Tony's has a working stove. For now, though, he heads into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and stripping out of his clothes quickly and efficiently, folding them and setting them on the sink. He took a moment to stare at his reflection in the mirror, reaching up to touch the mark that Steve had left on his skin earlier that morning. It was faded, but still visible. From there, his gaze dropped to observe the other marks littered across his body.

He knew one of the biggest differences between the serum running through his veins and the one running through Steve's was that his own wounds left scars if they were serious enough. And he'd had plenty of serious wounds over the decades. Gunshots, knife wounds, marks from scalpels and electricity and lashes from beatings. Order through pain.

To say nothing of the scarred flesh along his left shoulder and the edge of his chest. It was why he made it a practice to always have a shirt on, even in the rare times he was uncomfortably warm. His lower body wasn't really any better off. He grimaced, turning away from the mirror and climbing into the shower, turning it on as hot as it would go and scrubbing at his skin methodically and letting himself think about the course of the day, how the revelation from Tony that he knew about his father's involvement in HYDRA back in the sixties and seventies made sense. He couldn't imagine any other reason leading Tony to fetch him beer and offer his cabin up north. That was thing about guilt, though. It ate away at you until there wasn't much left. He sighed heavily, letting the hot water sluice over his body, washing away the soap he'd used. The guilt wasn't Tony's to harbor, but he didn't know how to convince him of that. At the end of the day it was just one more thing he couldn't really do anything about. It was a demon that Tony was going to have to battle himself.

He scrubbed his hands over his face, turning his thoughts to Steve. He was the only good thing in this entire mess, and he knew him well enough to believe that Steve wasn't going to blame Tony for things his father had done anymore than Bucky blamed him. He knew Steve wasn't always entirely rational when it came to him, though, so he was determined to make sure he understood it one way or the other, even if it meant sitting on him and staring him in the face until it clicked into place. Steve needed his other friends as much as he needed Bucky, because that was just part of what it meant to be a person.

It dawned on him then, how far he still had to go, because frankly he'd be fine disappearing for the rest of his life as long as he had Steve and Monet. He didn't need anyone else. Didn't trust anyone else. Not fully, anyway.

The road to recovery was a real bitch.

[littleguyfrombrooklyn]

Steve heard the shower click on as he finished washing off the dish that Bucky had given him. He smiled a little, allowing himself to imagine Bucky in the shower—smiling, his hair wet and in his face, his thickly muscled body gleaming. He thought about the mark Steve left on his neck and imagined leaving the like up and down him, giving his old scars—which even Steve had only half-seen, when Bucky was trying to hide them—some loving reminders of Bucky’s much better present.

The thought gave him pause, though, and his smile faded. This morning had been amazing. He would remember that blowjob happily for the rest of his life—and judging by the way that Bucky responded in the elevator, it wouldn’t be the last one. But Bucky shying away and demurring when Steve had offered to return the favor—that was much more concerning. He hadn’t been aroused, at least not physically, or at least not so much that it was visible from over his clothes. Did something happen to his dick? Surely someone would have mentioned if it was… missing. Or something.

Bucky certainly seemed like he was into it, responding with hot eyes, heavy breathing, and a quickly beating heart. Steve really didn’t think he was pressuring him into something that Bucky didn’t want. So it was a puzzle—he hoped Bucky would let Steve touch him, soon. He wanted to familiarize himself with every nook and cranny of his body.

In his absent-mindedness, he was munching on a bag of corn chips. He only noticed when he was finishing them off. He was a caveman, apparently, attention only grabbed by sex and food. He had other things to think about, surely, which reminded him—he found his phone and sent Tony a text message, sincerely telling him how happy Steve was that Tony was making an effort to get along with Bucky.

With that done, he curled up on the couch to wait for Bucky, Monet hopping up next to him. He pulled the blanket back over him, feeling much smaller than his size would suggest since Tony had put a big couch in the room—bigger than would be wise, for most people. The thought made his heart pang—this must be for him. It explained the record player in the corner, too—even though Tony couldn’t really manage a style Steve actually liked, he was trying. Steve texted him that he liked the place.

Then, he did something he’d vowed years ago not to do and googled himself.

[endsinafight]

Bucky emerged from the bathroom a short while later, hair damp but not dripping, wearing his new shirt that Pepper had given him that was so soft he wasn't sure how he was ever going to want to wear anything else again. Maybe he could find out where she found it and just buy a whole bunch of them to have on hand. He'd have to ask. The black sweatpants he wore were warm but not as soft as the shirt but it was okay.

He caught sight of Steve curled up on the couch beneath a blanket, Monet pressed beside him as he read something on his phone. He sneaked up behind him as quietly as he could, then leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, looping his arms around his chest. He caught sight of a picture of the two of them, taken that morning as they were trying to get into the car and realized what he was doing.

"So what's the verdict, Cap?" he drawled. "Are we the next celeb power couple or are we doomed?"

[littleguyfrombrooklyn]

As quiet as Bucky could go was really, really quiet. Steve didn’t hear him coming at all. He startled at the touch to the top of his head, jerking his head around to see what it was—but then he felt Bucky’s hands slide around him and he relaxed like somebody had cut his strings.

"I need to put a bell on you," he said, fondly. He reached up to gently tug on a lock of Bucky’s hair, teasing.

At the question he sighed a little. "Mixed, of course. But overall, positive. I think we’re much closer to the next power couple than anything else. There’s already a lot of talk about our epic love story and how sad it is. Only people who are already upset about the queer thing are focusing on your captivity, which is actually good for us. It makes it sound just like bigotry."

[endsinafight]

He couldn't help but grin at the bell comment, pressing a kiss to his cheek before shifting his gaze back to the article he was reading. Mixed reviews weren't a surprise, really. It was better than all bad, at least. He drew in a slow breath before reluctantly letting go of Steve and moving around the couch to sit down beside him instead, dropping onto the sofa and draping an arm around his shoulders.

"Natasha suggested we could have a vetted reporter write an article on us. Instead of a big talk show." He still wasn't convinced he could deal with that kind of pressure and attention. Not from that many people all at once.

[littleguyfrombrooklyn]

Steve felt Bucky’s shirt against his neck and out of curiosity, he leaned his face—and yep, that was an amazing shirt. It was so soft. He was mildly distracted by it, enough that it took him a second to respond to Bucky’s words.

"That’s a good idea," he said, finally. "We could have much more control that way. They’ll come into our space and it won’t be as noticeable if we don’t want to answer something."

Monet, having been gently displaced by Bucky, climbed on top of both of them, stretching out and letting her tail wag lightly.

[endsinafight]

He nodded, relaxing at Steve's easy agreement. Dealing with one reporter sounded far less stressful than being on a talk show. He shifted a little, stretching his legs out in front of him as Monet crawled across their laps and laid down. He rested his hand on her back, laying his head against Steve's shoulder, reaching out and taking his newly-healed hand with his flesh one. He ran his fingertips over it, light and gentle, marveling at the fact that it was back to normal after a two hour procedure.

Science was kind of amazing.

"Looks good," he murmured.

[littleguyfrombrooklyn]

Steve was hushed as he watched Bucky gently run his fingertips over Steve’s hand, so careful and sweet.

"Feels normal," he whispered back to Bucky, just as quiet. "Good as new."

There was a strange pang of loss at that, which disquieted him. When he had been hurt, there had been a wistful part of him that thought, now I can retire and nobody could blame me, not even myself. Steve had never been good at making choices, not really—but he was pretty good at coping with situations he was given and making the best of them. If his hand had never healed to the point where he could plausibly fight, maybe he would have learned to cope with retirement.

He sighed, almost inaudibly—realistically he probably would have just found a way to strap his shield to it and carry on. Something about his blood never let him rest.

[endsinafight]

"I'm glad," he said quietly, and words couldn't begin to describe how glad he was. As much as the idea of Steve retiring appealed to him, he couldn't actually picture it happening. He'd never been the kind of person to stand still for long, never been able to sit out when someone was in trouble or needed help. And if his hand hadn't healed right, Bucky had little doubt he'd still go out on missions and do his best even if he was at a disadvantage.

He turned his head, pressing a light kiss against Steve's temple at the quiet sigh he heard. "You all right?"

Monet lifted her head to look at them, as though listening to their conversation, tail still wagging slowly.

[littleguyfrombrooklyn]

Steve didn’t want to tell Bucky some ungrateful part of him was sad he was healed—not only would that probably not work, he knew Bucky would suffer enormously being at all involved with something that injured him for life. He wouldn’t put that on Bucky. It wasn’t his burden to carry.

"I don’t think I’ve aged a day, since walking out of Dr. Erskine’s machine," he said, instead. His voice hushed. "I might never be old."

He would likely be able to fight until the world exploded around him or someone finally managed to kill him for real. He probably would never stop fighting.

[endsinafight]

Bucky was silent for a moment, drawing in a breath and letting it out slowly as he considered what that meant. It was a heavy conversation to have, and their lives were so full of those these days. He missed the time when things were simpler: just the two of them, in their shitty one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn, sharing a bed for warmth in the winters. But that also meant Steve was always sick, always in danger of not recovering.

He didn't know if he'd aged since his first dosage of the serum, didn't know if his own body would age at all, even at a more gradual pace. It was hard to gauge when he looked in the mirror, hard to see beyond the weight of the guilt and exhaustion that plagued him. He felt old. But he'd felt old since the war.

"Might not," he agreed, his own voice hushed. He lifted his head so that he could look at him, study him. "What are you thinking that means for you?"

For them?

[littleguyfrombrooklyn]

Bucky’s eyes on him felt almost unbearable. He shifted, pushed his face into Bucky’s neck.

"When that girl was gonna—when I had the gun to my head, I just kept thinking that I have so much to live for, so many things I want to do. But—" he took a shuddering breath, let it out slowly. He tried to keep ahold of himself. He was probably just over-tired, that’s what this was.

"I’m gonna fight until I get ripped to pieces," he said, finally, bursting out of him. "That’s probably the only thing that can stop me."

[endsinafight]

He pressed his lips together even as Steve hid his face in his neck. He lifted his hand to rest at the back of Steve's head, holding him for a moment and trying to ignore how hard that admission hit him. "No." His voice was hushed, but firm. He slid his fingers into Steve's hair, gently tugging his head up so that Steve had to look at him.

"Just because you can fight doesn't mean you have to. Not all the time." His gaze was intense as he searched Steve's eyes. "There's more to life than that, Steve. And you deserve the good stuff." More than anyone, he thought with a pang. "You don't have to do this forever, whether you get old or not. Not every battle has to be yours."

[littleguyfrombrooklyn]

"I’m not saying that I have to or that anyone would force me or even, hell, that I morally should keep fighting," Steve said, averting his gaze away from Bucky’s. "I just—I don’t think I will stop."

He had never been good at stopping. He’d always thrown himself into things, fists out and head first. He was getting so tired. He could feel it in all his bones.

[endsinafight]

"Not even if you had a reason to?" He stroked his metal fingers gently down the length of Steve's neck. He knew Steve had difficulty stopping himself from doing certain things, like he owed the world a debt he couldn't ever fully repay, being who he was.

[littleguyfrombrooklyn]

He turned a tired smile to Bucky, looking him in the face.

"Well," he said, quietly. "I quit SHIELD for you. So that’s a start."

[endsinafight]

Bucky met his eyes for a moment, then leaned in, pressing a tender kiss against his mouth. "Yeah, you did," he said just as quietly. "Maybe you don't have to look at it as all or nothing. Maybe...this can be a sort of semi-retirement for you, too."

[littleguyfrombrooklyn]

Steve sighed, slumping against Bucky.

"I’m probably just over-tired," he said, slipping his arms around Bucky’s waist. "I’m sorry for being so dramatic. I don’t normally spend time looking at pictures of myself, like I was just doing—I look just the same."

"I need a meal and a nap like a cranky baby," he said.

[endsinafight]

Bucky rubbed a hand down his back when Steve shifted and slumped against him. "It's been a long few days," he said quietly. "I'm sure Pepper will be sending food up anytime now. You can eat and I'll tuck you in bed." He kissed the top of his head lightly. His gaze shifted to the phone on the couch, and sure enough, Steve was right. He didn't look like he'd aged at all. It was something to think about, if not look into more later.

He was sure one of Steve's genius friends could run some tests and see if there was a way to predict what that entire scenario would look like. Banner, maybe. Hell, maybe even Tony.