longing. [sambucky]

𝟗: you're welcome

Sam found himself perched on the pier, looking at the vast horizon beyond the boats tied up to the docks. They rocked gently with the breeze that cooled the sweat on his temples and across his upper lip. His breathing slowed gradually and he stretched out, feeling the aches and pains that a hard day of helping out on the dock gave him.

Tugging his phone out of his back pocket, he opened contacts. His eyes flickered over to the boat that creaked and groaned unhappily. She had seen better days, and she deserved to see those better days once more. God knew the Wilson's deserved a stroke of luck, a working boat.

He started calling people, asking in favours from people he knew his mother and father had given a hand to a few times. That was how the community there worked, and it was the most welcoming place in the world.

For the past few days, Sam's mind had been occupied with fixing the boat, and he wanted it that way. He needed it to be that way. Isaiah and the shield was too much to process, hence why he'd come home for some peace in the midst of the mess that was the human race. He didn't want to think of Cap's shield dripping with blood, Isaiah's trembling hands and teary eyes.

Sam had worked with veterans, he'd been involved in the army himself, so he knew he was doing the opposite of what he should have be doing. He knew the signs, falling down that rabbit hole of racing thoughts and sudden flashbacks. He didn't think it was PTSD as such, but he knew he was frightened by the events he'd witnessed. He'd tell somebody in his position to open up, talk to somebody about how they were feeling. But there wasn't anybody for Sam to talk to, nobody that would understand. Nobody but Bucky. And he'd took off to take care of Zemo, Sam had no idea when he'd next see him again.

The tension between the two could've been cut with a knife during their mission, Zemo had sensed that much. He'd teased relentlessly and Sam would have punched him if they hadn't needed his help, and boy, had they needed it.
Sam and Bucky were a good team... under normal circumstances. But since the bed incident, nothing had been the same. Bucky built his walls back up. He didn't even bother talking to Sam, not about anything but the mission. And perhaps that was to be expected, they'd labelled themselves as enemies originally so perhaps that was all they were destined to be.

But Sam knew that wasn't quite true, he could see it in Bucky's eyes. He'd heard it in his voice when he'd uttered:

"I can't do this."

Bucky was running away from his feelings and Sam wasn't too sure what they were.

He tried to bring his thoughts back to the boat but they'd already ran away to Bucky again. Sam hated that he'd gone away, hated that he was so stubborn and hard to talk to. But what he hated most of all was how much he missed him.

By the next day, the docks were bustling with people crowding around the Wilson's boat. Sarah had her hands on her hips, glaring at Sam and he couldn't help but crack a smile.

"What?" Sam asked innocently, holding his hands up.

She was biting back a grin upon seeing her brother's smug face, turning away to help with unloading materials for the boat.

"Mr Falcon!" A familiar voice called.

"Hey! Jerry!"

The morning was pleasant, with the sun beating down on their backs. Sam gave hugs and handshakes to all the familiar faces and for a while he forgot about the worries he had.

As he was lifting some engine parts off the back of a truck, he rolled his sleeves up, prepared to start lifting the heaviest part when it started levitating itself. His eyes few wide and for a moments Sam wondered whether Wanda Maximoff had showed up to them them fix their boat. That was until he realised the engine wasn't levitating, but being lifted by an arm. Specifically, a metal one. Attached to a specifically grumpy brown-haired man. Sam couldn't stop the corners of his lips rising into a bright smile.

"You're welcome," Bucky said as he put the engine down and lifted a silver and black box onto the back of the truck, with a strength and ease that made Sam's heart race. A bit. "Just dropping this off, you can sign for it and I'll go."

Sam furrowed his brow, studying the box and raising a hand to touch it.

"I called in a favour from the Wakandians," Bucky elaborated and Sam suddenly realised what it was.

New wings. Bucky had got him new wings. The others had been torn off during their fight with Walker, Sam didn't know if Bucky had even realised. But he clearly had not only realised, but gone out of his way to get Sam new ones. He looked at Bucky with a tender expression, but Bucky didn't meet his eyes. He hadn't since that night.

Breaking the silence between them was a hissing from behind, where a pipe had split and was spraying everywhere.

"Sam!" Sarah called, jogging over to it.
Sam got to it first, trying to adjust the pipe with a spanner. It was a futile effort. Bucky came up behind him, hand brushing his waist briefly.

"Hold on, hold on," he said, so close to Sam his breath tickled his neck.

He took the spanner from Sam, their hands lingering on each other's for a moment too long. But not long enough.

"You gotta go up!" Bucky called over the hissing of the pipe.

He watched as Bucky slowed the spray of water, grinning smugly to himself when he was done, tossing the spanner aside.

"Why didn't you use the metal arm?"

Bucky raised said arm and looked at it with a furrowed brow, lips parting.

"Well- I-" he stuttered. "I don't always think of it immediately."

Sam raised a brow.

"I'm right-handed," Bucky said.

Chuckling, Sam watched Bucky look around at the boat. His posture was relaxed, shoulders untested as something that almost resembled a smile graced his lips. He seemed comfortable on a boat, Sam wanted to know why. Sam wanted to know everything about Bucky. And yet all he could think of was those words he'd said to Sam:

"I still can't do this."