In All Our Years Series - 4 In 1 | Captain!Bucky, WinterSoldier!Steve | Stucky

1940

| 1947 |

S.H.I.E.L.D. Bucky wasn't surprised. He'd always believed in Peggy Carter - when she was dodging blasts from HYDRA's guns, when she and the other Howlies got the hang of using Steve's shield; but, most of all, when she kissed him before sending him off on the Valkyrie.

She always had the best intentions in mind. What idiot wouldn't trust a woman with that strength?

Now, they were both tearing up - he was still freezing cold, her red lips trembled as she tried to reign herself in. She pulled the blanket tighter around him and him closer, until their noses brushed and their foreheads were pressed together - an intimate mannerism Bucky remembered having with Steve in the dark, gloomy apartment they shared. It felt so long ago, and maybe it was. Maybe this was some hallucination and he was still in the ice.

But he knew better. Sadly.

"Peg?" he whispered, dropping his head to her collarbones, her lips catching his forehead on the way down.

"Yes, James?"

"We're friends, right?" He hoped they were. Or, something. Anything. With Steve around, it had been easy. She was an ally. She was a fellow soldier, agent, whatever, and Bucky trusted her. She was there for his best guy when he needed it, when Bucky couldn't be there. She knew Steve Rogers for what he was, saw what Bucky and Miss Sarah had seen. For that, she was stellar in his book. Without him around, Bucky wasn't too sure of anything. With the kiss, with the closeness, he had to ask what are we? For the second time in his life, he had no idea where he stood with someone he admired. The first time, he had to be careful. The world couldn't know, their families couldn't know (Ellie figured it out on her own, and that was not his fault), sometimes they couldn't even act like they knew. With Peggy...everyone in the world could know. They could go dancing in clubs that wouldn't be raided, they could walk down the street arm-in-arm, hand-in-hand, just because they could. Something deep in Bucky's soul twinged at the thought, guilt and the nagging realization that he was betraying everything he knew.

She pushed her fingers through his hair, the heel of her hand against his jugular. She was warm, gently pulling his head up to latch their gazes together. Her hazel eyes were watery, wide with emotion. "Why is this in question now?"

And the truth - the fact that he knew better than anything now, that he was a lonesome shitshow in a growing world he had been ready to leave, that he had left only to be pulled back, and he had no place; "I have nowhere to go."

She shook her head a few times and assured, like a mother might her child, "No. No, you still have your family -"

He shook his head right back, causing her to freeze. "They'll treat me different. You know that. Everything's changed." He reached up and tucked her dark hair behind her ears, showing her strong cheekbones and jaw. "I can't lay all this bullshit on my family. Not when they remember who I was before." Before what? The war? The ice? Which one was he referring to, because they both changed him - the war made him face the darkness in himself, the side of him that liked his so called "talents," his abilities. The part of him that liked how well he could do the job given to him, that could forget they were people and not practice targets in his scope. A gun was an extension, not something to shake off or lose, because if lost, it meant despair. Bucky could have been walking death, especially after Zola got his hands on him. He practically vibrated with energy, and he crashed after too long of it. He needed more. He wasn't sure what, but he needed it, just like Steve had needed air before he was reborn.

The ice. The ice was something else entirely. He should have died. He didn't. Now he was living the consequence. He lost out on time, people - god, it only felt like a few days, but he missed Steve and all of his light - but some deep part of him couldn't care. Maybe it was the ice, maybe it was his heart, but he felt numb. The anxieties handed to him were sweeping over his head, some sort of mudslide, and Bucky couldn't combat it. How could he? He had been ready for death. Now he was back to life.