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“Jumped out of a plane, Sam. Out of a plane. I know Steve gave you the damn shield, but you didn’t have to take on his personality with it!”
“Steve didn’t have wings, man. I do. Big difference. So what’s the problem?”
Bucky threw his shoes down on the ground, having taken them off after entering the house. The house that he and Sam shared. Why they thought living together was a good idea, he’d never know.
That was a lie, he knew exactly why it was a good idea. He just didn’t want to admit it right now.
“Because it was stupid, and reckless. You aren’t a supersoldier, Sam, one of these days you’re gonna get yourself hurt and I’m not taking care of your dumbass. You break a leg, that’s all you.”
“Good, you’d be a shit nurse.”
“You’d be lucky to have me.”
Sam grinned at that, that annoying, gap toothed grin. Sam oozed confidence. Bucky didn’t think he’d ever met a man so sure of himself. Steve had been stubborn, but that was different. Sam had a stubborn streak, sure, but he was stubborn because he knew who he was and what he could do. Bucky hadn’t had that kind of confidence in a long time.
It was arrogance, really, he thought. Stupid arrogance that’s gonna get him killed. Stupid arrogance that was far, far too familiar to Bucky.
“Whatever,” the former soldier complained, running his hand through his hair. He was still surprised by its length. He found himself going to tie it up a couple times a day at least, only to be met with shorter strands.
Sam noticed it, of course. Sam always noticed when Bucky paused, when something was still a bit too strange for him. Bucky couldn’t tell if it was because Sam was just like that, an intuitive, empathetic man, or if it was the years of practice from his time working at the VA. Usually Sam would just let it slide, unless it was something bad. Today was not, apparently, one of those days.
“Hair still tripping you up?”
The smile was still there, still playful, keeping things light, but it was dimmer, and Sam’s ever observant eyes were more understanding than Bucky liked. Sam did have sharp eyes, he thought, always spotting things. Falcon eyes. It all made sense, see.
“A bit,” he said shortly. He knew Sam would pry an answer out of him eventually. It was best to just give in.
“In a good way or a bad way?”
“Neither?” Bucky replied. “Just in a tripping up way.”
Sam’s eyes were still on him, and Bucky turned away, walking to the kitchen. He pulled the Brita out of the fridge, poured a glass of water, and took a drink. Sam took the hint, and dropped the line of conversation.
The other man hung up the shield, in its place by the door. They never took it too far inside. They never talked about that, but the shield stayed out of the main living areas. Bucky’s therapist might have called that compartmentalization. He wondered if that’s what it was for Sam.
The mission had gone well, he had to admit, though he would never say that out loud to Sam. Sam had good instincts, and the choices he made were usually right.
The rest of the evening passed in a typical fashion. Sam and Bucky had settled into a routine over the few months they’d lived together.
It happened after Steve’s funeral. Bucky was living with Steve after he came back to them, aged and tired. Peggy was gone, passed away two years prior, and Steve was lonely. He should have said no, but when Steve called he came running. It was the foundation of their relationship, really. He was with Steve till the end of the line, and he wasn’t about to let his friend down. So he stayed. Till the end of the line. Till Steve’s last breath.
Those final days still haunted him.
Sam was the only one who really understood. Who understood who Steve was to Bucky, who understood what it was really like to lose Captain America, though Sam had been acting in the role for a while at that point. Steve’s passing was still a turning point. There was no going back from that.
So where are you staying now?” Sam asked him. The church was empty, mostly. The funeral ended two hours ago. There were a lot of people who lingered, but no one that either Bucky or Sam cared to speak to. The Avenger’s presence at the ceremony had been limited. Thor was gone, off and away to space. Natasha and Tony in their own graves. Clint and his family came, but Wanda was absent. It was a sad farewell, a lonely one. But Bucky was used to being lonely.
“I… don’t know,” Bucky admitted. “Steve said I could keep the house. If I want to.”
“Do you want to?”
The question sat uncomfortably in Bucky’s mind. He should want to, right? He should want to keep something of Steve, something to hold onto, but….
“You know it’s your choice, right? You don’t owe him.”
That surprised Bucky. He looked at Sam, really looked at him for the first time since Steve passed. Sam’s face was hard and stony. There were dried tear tracks on his cheeks, but he wasn’t crying now. Now he looked… angry.
“I do owe him,” Bucky said quietly. He didn’t know how to explain it to Sam. He couldn’t even explain it to himself, really. “I do.”
“You don’t. Steve’s gone. He left a long time ago, man. Left everyone and everything behind. Like none of it mattered. The only person you owe now is yourself.”
“... you’re angry,” Bucky said, tentatively. He and Sam didn’t really talk. They sniped, or argued. They didn’t talk. This was new territory.
“I am,” Sam said bluntly. “I’ve been angry since he left. I told him, too.”
Bucky wanted to respond to that, but the emotions welling up in his chest were overwhelming. Sometimes… sometimes he missed the calm that came from the mind wipes. They hurt, everything always hurt, but then things would be blank. He clenched his metal fist on top of his knee, letting his hair fall into his eyes. It was still long.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. Not pressing, just resting gently. A reminder that someone was there.
“All I’m saying, man, is you get to choose. And if you need a place, I’ve got a spare room. That’s all.”
Bucky moved in with Sam three days later.
They hadn’t talked about Steve since then. Instead, they fell into an almost sitcom like routine. They argued while making breakfast, argued while going to work, and argued on missions. Then they argued when they got home. The jabs were familiar territory, and Bucky knew it wasn’t mean spirited. His therapist said that the sense of normalcy, routine, was good for him. So Bucky could deal with Sam being annoying, so long as they stuck to the routine.
***
That routine broke when Andrew came into the picture. It happened during a mission. A pretty routine one, not something that should have needed Captain America and Bucky Barnes, but they were called in anyway. Since Thanos, there had been a remarkable decrease in world threatening disasters. So they kept busy with other things.
It was a bank robbery, with hostages. A big bank. They swooped in, Sam literally swooping on his wings, rounded up the robbers, saved the hostages, and bam, they were done. They were debriefing with the local police when someone called out to them.
“Sam Wilson? Is that you?”
Sam and Bucky turned almost simultaneously. There was a man striding towards them, probably around Sam’s age, maybe a year or two younger. He had dark hair cut short, and a dusting of a beard on his face. Bucky assessed him, hand moving automatically to the gun strapped to his thigh. Then he saw the grin on Sam’s face.
“Andrew?”
Sam met him in the middle, drawing the other man into an embrace, clapping him on the back. They looked familiar with one another.
“How the hell have you been, man?” Sam asked.
“Not so bad, other than being involved in a bank holdup,” Andrew replied with a laugh. “I’d ask the same thing, but I think I can guess what you’ve been up to.”
His eyes ran over Sam’s body, over the suit and the shield Sam held. Bucky frowned. There was… something in Andrew’s eyes that he didn’t like. Something almost hungry.
Sam didn’t seem to notice, just giving a shrug. “Well, this is all in a day’s work.”
He beckoned Bucky over. Bucky was startled, but obliged. Maybe Sam needed an excuse to get away from this guy, whoever he was.
“Andrew, this is Bucky, my partner. Bucky, this is Andrew. We worked together at the VA.”
“Before this guy went rogue,” Andrew chimed in, holding out a hand to Bucky. Bucky looked at him, eyes raised, before giving it a quick shake. His eyes went to Sam, but Sam looked relaxed. No threat then, he guessed.
“Nice to meet you,” he said blandly. “I gotta finish up with the cops, Sam.”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, no worries. I’ll be over in a second.”
Bucky went back over to the police, answering questions, but his attention was split. He could still hear the conversation between Sam and Andrew.
“So, when you say partner…” Andrew started, rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you two-”
“Me and Bucky?” Sam asked. There was less surprise in his voice than Bucky expected, but he sounded flustered. “Nah, work partner.”
“Good. That’s good,” Andrew said, relief flooding his voice.
“Good?”
“Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to get dinner. If he was the other kind of partner, I think that would have been a bit awkward.”
There was a beat of silence. Bucky to his surprise, found himself wanting Sam to say no.
“Yeah, I’d like to get dinner.”
Sam’s voice was solid, and warm, and there was a hint of affection creeping in. Bucky didn’t realize how hard he was gripping the clipboard he was supposed to be writing on until it snapped in his hands.
***
Sam didn’t tell him about the date until a week later, on the day it happened. Bucky didn’t want to pry. He probably shouldn’t have been listening to the conversation in the first place. He’d been told he had issues with personal boundaries, but listening in was a hard habit for a spy to break. But he still didn’t want Sam to feel like Bucky was invading his privacy.
“Hey, you good for dinner tonight? I’m going out. I can help you with Ubereats again, if you need,” Sam’s voice broke through as he walked into the living room.
“I’ve ordered from Ubereats a thousand times,” Bucky grumbled, turning around. He blinked in surprise.
Sam looked… good. Sam always looked good, he was a very attractive guy. Bucky would have to be blind not to acknowledge that. But he looked…. Good. He wasn’t too dressed up, wearing jeans and a button up shirt, and his beard was freshly trimmed. His skin almost seemed like it was glowing.
Bucky realized he’d been staring a fraction too long. “Where are you heading, anyway?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.
“You remember that Andrew guy from the bank robbery? I’m going out with him,” Sam said. “Just dinner, not a big deal.”
Sam adjusted his sleeve, and Bucky clocked onto the motion immediately. Sam was nervous. Bucky hadn’t seen Sam nervous before, Scared, sure. Not nervous.
“Like a date?” he asked.
“Yeah. Like a date.”
There was a moment of silence. Bucky was struggling with his words. Sam was the talker between them, especially in serious moments. But right now it looked like Sam needed… something. Comfort, maybe. Reassurance. Bucky didn’t know how to give that, but Sam had done it for him in the past. At the funeral, helping Bucky cut his hair, making him tea after a particularly bad nightmare. He needed to at least try to return the favor.
“I hope it goes well,” Bucky said. He knew it was a lie the moment he said it, but he wasn’t sure why it was a lie. Or why he would bother to lie about that. Or why he didn’t want it to go well.
“I guess we’ll see,” Sam said. His gaze was tight and a little distant.
“You ever think about dating, Buck?” The question seemed to come out of nowhere. Sam was a talker still, Bucky thought. Maybe he just didn't want to talk about himself.
“No, not really,” Bucky replied.
“Because of Steve?”
“No,” Bucky said automatically. He was surprised to realize that it was the truth. “Because of me, I think. I’ve got a lot of work to do on myself. I wouldn’t even know where to start with dating.”
Sam’s dark brown eyes are on him again, and Bucky feels a strange surge of warmth.
“You haven’t dated since I’ve known you,” he says slowly, trying to turn the conversation back to Sam. He wasn’t good at this, but he could try. He’d just say what Sam would say in the situation.
“No, I haven’t.”
Sam’s entire body looked tight, and he didn’t look like he was breathing very well. Bucky slowly stood up from the couch and made his way over to where Sam was leaning against the counter. He leaned next to him, cautiously, just close enough that their arms were brushing. The contact seemed to help, and Sam relaxed a bit.
“I haven’t dated since I met Steve,” Sam confessed. “Andrew and I went on a date before all of that happened, before I got swept up in all this. Nothing came of it, really. But that was the last date I went on.”
“Dating opportunities were probably a bit thin on the ground,”Bucky said. “What with being a fugitive.”
Sam chuckled, and something in Bucky settled at the sound.
“You’d be surprised. I had some bites. I’m irresistible, Barnes.”
The mirth in his voice died, replaced with a sigh. “I couldn’t date. Not with Steve around.”
The wheels turned in Bucky’s head for a moment, and then finally, finally, it all clicked. Sam’s anger at Steve’s funeral, the raw hurt in his voice when he spoke about being left behind, the hesitancy to date- Bucky understands that. Bucky has felt that.
“I didn’t know,” he said in a low voice.
Sam shrugged. “You couldn’t have. I didn’t tell anyone. Not even Steve.”
“Why not?”
Sam shot him a look. “Why do you think?”
Oh.
“Steve and I weren’t meant to happen,” Sam said, and his voice was tight. “We couldn’t, not with you around. I don’t blame you for that. But I’ve been hung up on him for a long time. I want to try to move on.”
Bucky moved just an inch closer, pressing his arm up against Sam’s.
“I know. I- me too, you know. I did too.”
That level of honesty felt wrong. It felt like he was divulging a secret that was never supposed to come to light. Steve and Bucky… well, they’d always been complicated. They danced around it for a long time, around their feelings for one another, and in the end it went unsaid entirely. They had to hide it in the 40s, it was a different time back then. Then when Bucky came back he was… damaged. He wasn’t Steve’s Bucky anymore, even when he got the Winter Soldier out of his head.
Bucky carried his feelings for Steve close to his chest. Letting anyone see that felt wrong. But Sam needed it. And Sam… he trusted Sam. Sam knew him, knew who he was now. Not who he had been.
“I know you did.” Sam said, and the understanding in his voice finally makes sense.
***
Sam’s date went well. Not spectacularly, from what Bucky could tell, but Sam came home with a smile on his face. They don’t mention the conversation again. Bucky thought it was still too raw for both of them.
Sam and Andrew went on a second date. Then they went on a third. Then Sam spent the night at Andrew’s, and Bucky slept alone for the first time since Steve’s death. He woke up screaming, and realized how much he’d come to rely on Sam. Not rely on him. His therapist would call that codependence. But he wanted Sam there, wanted to hear Sam’s voice, wanted to be reminded that he wasn’t alone.
It became a regular occurrence, Sam sleeping over at Andrew’s. He never brought Andrew home.
“Andrew ever coming over here?” Bucky asked once, with an attempt at the usual blunt, light conversations that they have. The attempt fell flat, but the effort was there. Sam raised an eyebrow.
“Why? You got a little crush?”
Bucky rolled his eyes. “Just askin’.”
Sam’s face turned serious. “No, not yet. You don’t have to worry about that.”
“I wasn't worried,” Bucky protested, but Sam held up a hand.
“Buck, I know how important your space is. And I know how important it is for you to feel safe here. I’m not bringing anyone over.”
Bucky didn't know how to respond to that, other than feeling an overwhelming guilt. Him being there was preventing Sam from having a normal relationship. Sam was having to work around his own PTSD because Bucky was living with him. But selfishly, he didn’t want Andrew over. For the safety thing, yes- Sam was on the money about that. But he didn’t want to see Andrew and Sam together. Didn’t want to see them as a couple, didn’t want to hear… whatever they did at night. It made something rise up in him, some kind of angry, jealous monster in his chest.
But he also didn’t want to stop Sam from living his life.
That night, Bucky pulled up house listings on his laptop. He passed out in the living room on the couch, the browser still open. He was tired. He hadn’t been sleeping well, the nightmares coming back in full force.
Sam woke him up late that night, coming in through the front door. The shield hung on the wall, and Sam’s face was reflected in it as he walked by. Bucky raised his head, squinting in the light.
“Oh, shit. Sorry, man,” Sam said apologetically.
“I thought you were staying the night,” Bucky said in response. More awake, he looked at Sam for a second time. Something was wrong. Sam was upset.
“I decided to come back,” Sam said. He wasn’t going to talk about it anymore, that was clear. In the months living together, Bucky had become almost as good at reading Sam as Sam was at reading him. So instead, he just shrugged.
“Well, I’m up now. I might watch that baking show or something. If you want to join.”
Sam let out a laugh, a genuine one, and Bucky’s heart soared.
“You and that goddamn baking show,” Sam said, a fond note in his voice.
“Hey, it calms me down,” Bucky argued.
“The last time you watched it, you were anything but calm.”
“They were messing up the frosting. It was heartbreaking, Sam.”
Sam moved to sit next to Bucky, plopping down with a sigh. There was barely an inch of space between them. Bucky’s laptop turned back on with the movement, and the browser popped up. Sam’s smile disappeared.
“House listings.” It wasn’t a question, but not quite a statement, either.
Bucky rubbed the back of his head. “Uh, yeah.”
“You’re thinking about moving out?” Sam’s voice was calm, and measured, the way he spoke when he was trying not to show what he was actually thinking.
Bucky could have lied, but he didn't.
“I was thinking about it. Not decided yet.”
They sat together in the dimly lit room, the baking show forgotten in the midst of this new information.
“You gonna tell me why?” Sam asked, finally, breaking the silence.
Bucky shrugged. “I don't know.”
“Did I do something?”
Bucky’s head shot up, and he looked at Sam incredulously. “No.”
“Then what?”
Bucky groaned. “Look, I just think- I don’t know. You can’t even bring Andrew over here because of my stupid issues. Maybe I should get a place of my own. That way you can get on with your life.”
“Bucky-”
“You don’t have to take care of me. I can take care of myself, and I can handle myself. I don’t want you living some half life because you feel some type of obligation towards me.”
Bucky didn’t want to have that outburst, but it came out as though he’d rehearsed it. He barely knew he was feeling that way until he spoke it out loud.
“Bucky.” Sam’s hand was on his arm, and his gaze was fierce. “I don’t feel an obligation to you, man. I want you to live here. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t.”
“But why would you want me living here? I’m a goddamn mess, Sam.”
The laugh Sam let out was short and harsh. “And you think I’m not? I got turned into dust six years ago. I served in the army, watched my best friend fall out of the sky, and watched the man I fell in love with age sixty years in ten seconds. That shit leaves a mark.”
His voice softened. “You’re not a burden, Buck. I want you here because I like having you here. If you want to leave because you think it's best for you, I won't stop you. Hell, I'll buy you a housewarming gift and help you move. But don’t leave because of me.”
Bucky nodded wordlessly, eyes fixed on Sam’s face. Slowly, he moved his other arm and closed out of the browser. Sam relaxed.
“All right, let’s watch this damn baking show,” he muttered. Bucky turned it on. Sam’s hand didn’t leave his arm for the rest of the night.
***
Sam and Andrew broke up after two months. The lifestyle of Captain America didn’t exactly lend itself to a successful dating life. What surprised Bucky was that Sam didn’t seem too affected by it. He was sad that it didn’t work out, but he jumped back into normal life without much issue, and after a couple days he was back to his usual self. They didn’t talk about it. Bucky could have asked, but he didn’t. He hadn’t asked a lot about the relationship when they were dating, and he didn’t ask now. He didn’t want to know, really. The idea of hearing Sam talk about another man made him feel… wrong. Bad. And he wasn’t sure why.
He’d been feeling like that a lot with Sam. Confused, feeling emotions that he couldn’t pinpoint. He was happy when Sam was happy, and hearing Sam come home after a long day brought him a sense of peace that he hadn’t felt in a long time. His heart jumped when Sam made physical contact with him, whether that was a brush of a hand or a clap on the back after a successful mission. And he worried about Sam, worried about Sam a lot. The same way that he worried about Steve.
But it wasn’t until those fears came true that Bucky realized what was going on.
Sam got shot during a mission. It should have been an in and out job, dealing with a cartel leader, but he had more security than they expected, and a heads up that they were coming. Bucky got separated from Sam.
He heard a gunshot, and a shout of pain from his partner. Rage flared to life in Bucky’s chest, and he let out a yell. Moments later, he came to, surrounded by bodies- including the cartel leader.
Sam was already surrounded by a medical team. There was one waiting on the sidelines, and they were dropped in. Bucky couldn’t get near him. There was blood, a lot of it, spilling over the floor. Bucky watched it, wide eyed, before snapping his eyes to Sam’s face. His eyes were closed, but he was still conscious, taking short, shallow breaths, face grimacing in pain. Bucky’s fingers flexed, his instincts telling him to get to Sam, to toss the medics aside and tend to him himself- but he couldn’t do that. He had to let the medics do their jobs.
So instead he stood vigil. He stood vigil while they worked. His face was stony and set, and his eyes never moved from Sam’s face. His expression didn’t change until he heard Sam call his name when they moved him onto the plane, preparing to transport him to a medical facility.
“Buck-” Sam said, and Bucky was at his side in an instant. He dropped to his knees next to him, grasping Sam’s hand in his own before he realized what he was doing. Sam’s eyes were open now, but they were glazed over, pain evident in his expression.
“He’s stable now. He should be ok until we can get him to the facility,” one of the medics told Bucky. He nodded in acknowledgement.
“You good, man?” Sam asked him, and Bucky had to hold back a laugh. That was typical Sam, worrying about him even when Sam was the one who got shot.
“You know you’re the one who got shot, right?” he replied.
“Oh, this?” Sam asked. “This is nothing. I’ll just walk it off.”
For some reason, that was the moment that it clicked for Bucky. A joke. Sam was making a joke while he was bleeding on the floor of a plane.
You better be ok, Bucky thought desperately, squeezing Sam’s hand. You have to be ok. Because I don’t know what I’d do without you.
***
They released Sam into Bucky’s care after a day in the hospital. The bullet was in and out in a clean shot, missing major arteries. Sam had been extremely lucky. Bucky carried the shield for him, hanging it on the wall when they got into the house. He led Sam over to the couch, placing pillows for him and getting a blanket.
“I thought you said you weren’t gonna play nurse,” Sam quipped.
“I said you’d be lucky to have me play nurse. I guess it's your lucky day, huh?” Bucky replied. He helped Sam settle in. The other man rested back with a groan, closing his eyes. Bucky allowed himself a moment to look at Sam, drinking him in. Sam was home. Sam was safe. Sam would be ok. So Bucky would be ok.
Sam’s eyes blinked open, and he caught Bucky staring. Bucky was trapped, caught in the warm brown of Sam’s eyes, unable to look away. Sam quirked an eyebrow.
“Everything ok?”
Sam’s voice was quiet, almost tender. It was overwhelming.
“Yeah. Just thinking about how much of a dumbass you are,” Bucky replied, trying to divert Sam’s attention. He might have succeeded, if a stray tear hadn’t escaped his eye.
“Bucky. Talk to me.”
Bucky sighed, sitting down next to Sam. he noted Sam’s wince as he turned his body slightly to face him. Bucky’s fist clenched.
Sam’s hand touched his, and Bucky relaxed. He let out a shuddering breath.
“Hey. I’m all right,” Sam said softly.
“I know. I know-” Bucky said, breaking off. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Sam’s eyes. “But you might not have been. You can’t take those kinds of risks, Sam. I don’t know what I’d do if...”
He chanced a look at Sam. Sam’s breath was coming quickly, his eyes fixed on Bucky’s face. His expression looked… hopeful, almost. Vulnerable. Anticipating.
Bucky turned slightly, facing him.
“Do you know why I broke up with Andrew?” Sam said abruptly. Bucky frowned.
“You never asked why,” Sam said insistently. “You never asked, so I’m gonna tell you now.”
Bucky opened his mouth to speak, but Sam shook his head. “Please let me talk. I think this is important. I’ve been wanting to say something and I’m not letting the moment slip away.”
Bucky nodded slowly, sitting back to listen.
“I broke up with Andrew because of you.”
Guilt settled into Bucky’s stomach. Sam, of course, Sam could read him like a book, and he noticed. He grasped Bucky's hand tightly.
“Not like that. I broke up with him because it wasn’t fair to him. He was always having to compete. With you. I realized when you were thinking about moving out that I would always choose you over him, and that wasn't fair.”
“You’d choose me?” Bucky asked, in a voice low enough to be a whisper. Sam glanced away, and nodded.
“Every time. I’d choose you every time. I didn’t want to say anything, cause I didn’t want to scare you off. You said you didn’t want to date until you work on yourself, and I respect that. But… well, you were looking at me like that and I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.”
Bucky’s throat felt tight, and he wasn’t sure he could get words out.
“I’d choose you too,” he managed to whisper. “I’ve been thinkin’ about you a lot, Sam. A whole lot. And I don’t want to lose you.”
Sam turned back to him at that. His expression was hopeful, and there was a determination behind his eyes. He moved closer, close enough that Bucky could feel his breath ghosting over his lips.
“You mean that?” he murmured. Bucky nodded vehemently.
Sam’s eyes darted down to Bucky’s lips. He brought his hand up to the soldier’s cheek, running his fingers across the skin. Bucky shuddered.
Sam started to lean in, but Bucky stopped him, though everything in him was telling him to keep going.
“Sam, I’m not-” he started in a hoarse voice. “I’m not Steve.”
Sam pulled back, looking into Bucky's eyes. “I know you’re not. I don’t want you to be. You’re very different people, Buck. I loved Steve, but I don’t anymore. And I love you for different reasons.”
He paused. “I’m not Steve either, you know.”
Bucky let out a quiet laugh. “I know that. You’re Sam. And Sam is the one that I want.”
Then they were crashing into each other, Sam’s warm lips capturing his own in a kiss that eclipsed everything in Bucky’s mind. Oh, this was right, he thought. This is what it’s supposed to feel like. He brought his hands up to cup the back of Sam’s head, and Sam let out a groan into his mouth. Bucky liked that sound. He wanted to hear him make it again.
They pulled away, breathing heavily. Bucky rested his forehead against Sam’s.
“I take it back,” Sam said. “You’re a damn good nurse.”
Bucky laughed, light hearted and sincere. “Don’t make getting shot a habit.”
“If this is the treatment I get, I just might,” Sam teased. His eyes were alight, and Bucky could have looked at him for hours.
Sam smiled, and Bucky finally felt like he was home. This was definitely a break in their routine, but Bucky was sure it was the start of something good.
They’d wake up the next day and argue, but this time, the argument would end with a kiss.