longing. [sambucky]

𝟔: because i'm...

The city stayed quiet for them. Sam wasn't sure if he'd rather it have been loud, with car horns honking, cats screeching, people shouting. At least if it was noisy he wouldn't have to listen to Bucky's annoyingly shaking breathing, the creaks and cracks of the old motel room, the awkward swallows. At least he wouldn't have to listen to the overwhelming agony of nothing, the unbearable knowledge that Bucky wouldn't open up, that he may never open up. The idea that Sam may never know him like Steve had, and he'd never know what Bucky would have said if John Walker hadn't interrupted them.
It sounded like it would have been important.

"Steve wasn't my sweetheart," Bucky had muttered.

"I was just joking with you," Sam replied.

"You shouldn't."

"Why?"

"Because..." Bucky trailed off. "Because I'm-"

And that was when John Walker had interrupted them. "Because I'm." What? What could Bucky be saying? Sam couldn't think of a valid response and the question pounded his head like a sledgehammer.

Being a patient man, things like that never normally bothered him. But the idea that he'd never know what Bucky would have said... that did. And the need to know grew stronger as the silence in the motel room dragged on.

Bucky was slouched in the corner of the room, knees up to his chest, beside the radiator that kept squeaking unpleasantly.

The double bed was like a magnet that Bucky and Sam were repelled from, positioning themselves as far away from it as possible.

Bucky had insisted he'd take the floor, but it was getting late and Bucky didn't look like he was getting ready to sleep at all. And Sam wasn't getting ready to sleep in the bed, he couldn't with his mind racing like it was.

So the bed remained as the elephant in the room.

Sam cleared his throat, something he'd done multiple times in the past half an hour.

"Do you have a cold or something?" Bucky asked.

Sam placed his hands on the window sill, gripping it as he scowled at Bucky.

"No."

"Okay."

The silence continued. Sam didn't clear his throat again.

"Buck-"

"Sam-"

They both winced.

"You go first," Sam said.

"No really, it's-" Bucky was laughing.

He was laughing. Genuinely. His cheeks were flushed, Sam wouldn't have noticed in the dim light if he wasn't looking for it. But he was looking for it.

Bucky finished his little chuckles with a close-mouthed smile. Before digging his teeth into his bottom lip and glancing up at Sam with those baby-blue eyes. He'd never looked Sam in the eyes like that before.

"Are you angry with me? Because I want to see Zemo?" Bucky asked, his voice quieter than usual.

Sam hadn't really thought about it. In honesty, Sam's mind was anywhere but the mission. He was busy worrying about his sister, his nephews, thinking about Isaiah Bradley, about Bucky.

"No," Sam replied, without much hesitation.

Bucky's eyes fell to the ground. He clearly didn't believe Sam.

"I'm only worried that he'll get to you," Sam blurted out without thought.

Bucky furrowed his brow, but his eyes stayed on the matted motel carpet. He shifted, hugging his knees.