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Act of Sage

Chapter 20

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(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

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Like it’s some sort of competition, Sam visits for the weekend and starts bringing Bucky smoothies, too. Except instead of just coming up with recipes off the top of his head like Steve does, he’s gotta be Googling it or something.

According to Buck, he got a spa cucumber smoothie from Sam. When Steve asks what that means, he can’t even answer; so, maybe it’s just some words Sam pulled out of his ass.

Natasha tells Steve that she plans to talk with Bucky, but she doesn’t say what they talked about afterwards; and she definitely doesn’t mention that she brought gifts. Nevertheless, Bucky gains a pair of sweatpants that might be cashmere and a handful of fluffy hair ties.

Suffice to say, Steve has some competition.

As Bucky’s days in his current room dwindle, he becomes more demanding about Steve’s Brooklyn apartment. He makes Steve sketch out the floor plan on a bunch of papers he’s taped together. Buck wants to know every detail, meticulously asking Steve to include the microwave, the pillows on the couch, and the exact number of shoes his shoe rack can fit.

It’s a good memory exercise and maybe it’ll ease some of Bucky’s anxiety about the move, so Steve obediently draws out every triviality.

“You forgot the door,” Bucky complains, so Steve pencils in a line to show which way it swings open.

“Will you lock the door when I go to sleep?”

“No.”

“But what if I run away in the middle of the night?”

Carefully enunciating, Steve says, “I would like it if you didn’t do that, but…” And this part hurts. Steve swallows. “I said you’d be free, I meant it. If you don’t want to stay, I can’t make you. Just remember the U.S. Attorney needs you in the state until you finish your meetings.”

Bucky taps his pen against the table.

“Bucky, do you think– I mean, could we come to a compromise? If you decide that you wanna…leave. Can you just tell me? Before you leave, will you tell me? Don’t run away in the middle of the night. If you promise you’ll tell me, I promise I’ll let you go.”

“Okay,” Bucky says. “Promise.”

“Okay. Me too.”

Bucky watches intently as Steve sketches out the dresser drawers he’ll soon be able to keep his clothes in. “If you don’t lock me up at night,” he warns, “I’ll be able to get into your room.”

“I know that.”

“I might escape and kill you.”

Technically, he’s not wrong. A meteor could come down from the clouds and kill them both right here in their seats. Loki and his army could open up another wormhole over their heads. “You could,” Steve admits, “but I don’t think you will.”

“I might escape and try to sleep in your bed,” Bucky threatens, but if that’s supposed to make Steve think twice about leaving the doors unlocked…Ha!

“If you’d rather sleep in my bed, you can.”

“I want my own bed,” Bucky says.

“Okay.”

Quickly, he amends. “But I can change my mind anytime I want.” It sounds like somebody told him that; it’s one of those things that you shouldn’t need to point out unless you’re not sure about the truth of it.

Steve nods. “Yes, you can.” He hands over the finished sketch of Bucky’s future room – or, where he’ll probably start out sleeping. With Buck, Steve is an unfailing optimist.

When it comes time for dinner, Bucky agrees to eat at Steve’s apartment. He’s still unable to stomach all the foods that Steve can, so they bring the dinner from Buck’s food cabinet upstairs with them. Perched at the kitchen island, Bucky picks at his food – broth with roasted potatoes and carrots, white rice, two boiled eggs, and strawberry jello for dessert – while Steve reheats some leftover pasta.

Bucky takes the bright yellow scrunchie from his wrist and uses it to tie his hair back, raking his fingers through it; Steve watches the soft strands slip between Bucky’s metal fingers, mesmerized. How do they not catch in the grooves? He wants to step behind Buck and do it for him, run his own fingers against Bucky’s scalp and feel the silkiness of his hair.

The thing about the hair scrunchies from Natasha is that they don’t wrap as tightly as the smaller elastic hair ties. So, they create these ponytails and buns where it seems like half of Buck’s hair is falling around his temples and the nape of his neck. Even the slightest movement or shift in the air makes the wispy strands catch amongst themselves; or even worse: Bucky’s eyelashes. It’s like Nat gave him those damn things to torture Steve.

The microwave goes off, making Steve jump. He grabs his pasta and stands at the island across from Bucky.

Bucky keeps taking tiny sections of his rice onto his spoon, dipping the bites into the broth before he eats them. Only recently, he’s been able to keep enough calories in his body without having to supplement his meals with protein shakes. The stuff they give him isn’t exactly typical – lunch usually includes a plain bagel with peanut butter that Bucky complains is too dry – but it works. Besides, he seems to enjoy some of it; sometimes he gets avocado, or a ginger tea.

After they eat, Bucky is so settled that Steve suggests a movie. They put on Spirited Away and Bucky stares, wide-eyed at the animation. He’s probably never seen a 21st century movie.

He’s so incredible; Steve likes this movie, but it doesn’t come close to the fascination on Buck’s face as he watches it. Steve ends up leaning against the arm of the couch, one leg stretched out across the cushions so he can watch Bucky watch the movie. For two hours, Buck speaks only in wonderous little comments – about the characters, the graphics. Animated soot sprites scramble around to gather up their colored star candies and Bucky smiles, like the little boy that lives deep inside Steve’s heart.

This was the best idea Steve has ever had.

“Good, huh?” He asks when it’s over, if only to prod just one more amazed thing out of Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky sinks back into the couch. “Do you have more movies like that?”

“Yeah, the guy who made this one also made a few more. We can watch another one tomorrow, if you want.”

“Okay.”

It’s awfully late by now, so Steve says, “You wanna head back?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replies.

It’s been a good night; one of the best.

Then, Bucky takes his foot that’s been curled up underneath him and he kicks outward, shoving Steve’s leg off the couch.

“Hey,” Steve grumbles. “What was that for?”

“I don’t know.”

“C’mon, Bucky.” Please, give something up. Steve doesn’t beg, but he wants to. Please don’t spoil such a good night.

He gives Bucky a minute to stew before trying again. “Do you– Did you not want to go back? Is that it?”

Through clenched teeth, Bucky says, “You are making me angry.”

That’s so good; Steve’s heart swells, irrationally. It’s only been, what, a little over 2 months; and Bucky’s already doing so much better.

He has to purse his lips to keep from smiling, because that is really gonna piss Bucky off. “If you tell me what I did, maybe I can clean up my act, huh?”

“You won’t,” Bucky says, no bite behind it.

Steve loses control of his face; smiles at Bucky, despite himself. “Will you tell me anyways?”

He scoots across the couch to be closer and risks putting a hand on Bucky’s ankle. He wants to say sweet things, too; but he knows damn well it would be taken as an effort to manipulate.

“Don’t touch me,” Bucky orders, not moving.

Steve releases him.

Bucky stares at Steve’s clasped hands, motioning towards them. “You didn’t want to do that.”

“Yes, I did,” Steve says.

Bucky sighs, like they’ve had this conversation a million times before; but they haven’t. “Can you just stop arguing? If you didn’t, then. Okay? Let’s say you didn’t want to and I told you to do it anyways. Then what.”

Steve is not really sure what they’re talking about anymore. “If…If I wanted to touch you and you told me not to, then I wouldn’t do it. I’m–…What are you asking, Buck?”

He is woefully unprepared for this conversation. If they’re even having this conversation.

“You don’t listen,” Bucky laments. “I said if you wanted to.”

Steve takes a calming breath. This is Bucky trying to have a conversation with him; an important one, too. “I was listening. I said that if I wanted to touch you and you didn’t want me to, then I wouldn’t. The most important thing is that you…that you feel comfortable.”

“Comfortable with…?” Bucky prompts.

“With…– I guess, just with me. I’d hope that you feel safe, okay? You can talk to me. You don’t have to…” Steve motions towards the spot where Bucky kicked his leg off the couch. “…make demands. If you have a problem, you can just tell me.”

Bucky considers things for a while. He studies the molding on the archway between Steve’s living room and kitchen and runs a finger along the corner of a pillow.

Then, he guesses, “You could come back with me?”

There are some storms that happen way up in the clouds; Steve learned this during a nature documentary and just can’t seem to forget things anymore. Transient luminous events, the scientists call them; lightning crackling off in the treetops of the atmosphere. Snapping, firecracker-quick bursts, like the electric feeling in the valves of Steve’s heart.

“Yeah, okay,” he says.

They go back to Bucky’s room, but not before Bucky steals a mango popsicle from the fridge. In his bed, Bucky maneuvers Steve’s limbs around until he’s comfortable; he wants Steve’s arm under his neck while he sleeps, but too much clinging will get Steve shoved back.

When Steve wakes up the next morning, Bucky is perched at the foot of the bed working on a mandala coloring page, propped up by his knees and supported by a large book.

Without looking up or stopping his fastidious drawing, Bucky says, “When can we go have smoothies?”



Bucky’s just looking for structure; it hits Steve in an epiphany just a few days before they’re supposed to move to Brooklyn, and he can’t understand how he was daft enough not to fully realize it before. Half the times Buck’s gotten mad or kicked him out of the room might’ve been avoided if Steve had been more careful not to upset the status quo or spring things on him.

When Bucky gives him permission to use his whiteboard, Steve writes out a movie schedule for the two of them, extending it into the move to Brooklyn. He schedules a few safe choices first – Totoro, Castle in the Sky – then branches out to a few other things Sam and the other Avengers have shown him.

Steve puts the Star Wars movies towards the end of the list because he’s got a feeling Bucky is going to latch onto those and he’d like to delay that a little while. It’s not that he doesn’t like Star Wars, despite what Sam may think. But does he want to watch the one with the cloud planet for the 4th time this month? No, not particularly.

They’re able to make progress on the list, since Buck gets more and more comfortable being in Steve’s apartment. He stops asking Steve for snacks and starts going into the fridge to get them himself. Steve starts keeping his apartment stocked with jello cups, popsicles, and saltine crackers, so Bucky has something to munch on when popcorn is completely off-limits.



The first time Bucky has a nightmare with Steve in the room, it’s not at all like he expected. Somehow, he thought Bucky would wake him up screaming, maybe become violent and probably either kick Steve out or refuse to stay in the bed himself.

Instead, Steve comes to with Bucky whimpering in his sleep. Half asleep, with the hand that Bucky’s clutching to his heart, Steve rubs at his chest. He’s hoping Buck might settle and sleep through it, but of course he doesn’t; he thrashes his head to the side and his breathing picks up.

“Bucky,” Steve murmurs, running his thumb harder across the fabric of Bucky’s shirt.

He gasps himself awake.

“Buck,” Steve says again.

Bucky sniffs and rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. He groans, rolls into Steve’s side. Clumsily, Bucky grasps at the hem of Steve’s shirt; he hears it rip, then feels the cool curl of Bucky’s metal thumb against his hipbone. As soon as Steve starts messing with his hair, Bucky passes right out again.



The night before Bucky is set to move out, Steve goes down and finds him staring at his books.

“Do you think I can bring them all?” Bucky asks, not turning around.

“I know we can bring them all,” Steve assures.

Bucky motions towards a small stack of books he’s collected on the table. “If we can’t bring them all, these ones I need to bring.”

“We can bring them all.”

At Buck’s request, Steve runs through their plan for tomorrow. They’ll wake up when they wake up. They’ll pack everything that Bucky wants to keep and when they’re ready, Steve will start making trips down to the car. No, Bucky will not have to talk with Steve’s friends; yes, they can definitely take all the books; no, the cranes will not be crushed. Once Bucky starts to repeat his questions – just phrased slightly different – Steve urges him into the shower.

Steve lays in Buck’s bed and texts Natasha back, listening to the water hit the shower floor. It turns off quick enough that Bucky probably didn’t wash his hair, and Steve’s glad for it. He’d do anything for Bucky, but God does he hate it when Buck’s wet hair sticks to his arm and his face in these awful itchy clumps. He hates the sensation so much that during the war, when Bucky refused to stop catching raindrops in his mouth and then came into their tent soaked to the bone, Steve – in a move he would later agonize over – shoved Bucky off him and refused to hear his complaints.

Emerging from the bathroom, Bucky is dressed in a simple white t-shirt and heather grey sweatpants; the super soft ones Natasha bought for him.

His hair is pulled back into a dry bun, but the pieces that fell loose are wet and curled from the shower spray. Bucky rips his hair tie out, tossing it onto the dresser. He turns to look at Steve.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Steve says, and Bucky comes to him, slips into the bed; warm and close. Buck lies on his stomach propped up on both elbows, chin against his curled metal fist.

Steve gets his arm free and rests it on Bucky’s pillow so he can mess with his hair. He tucks it behind his ear, lets his knuckles skim the side of Bucky’s neck. It makes Bucky shiver. Jesus, he’s the most precious thing Steve has ever laid a finger on. He nearly lets something very dramatic and presumptuous fall out of his mouth.

“Hi, Buck,” Steve says, because he needs to talk.

Bucky looks like he wants to respond but doesn’t. Putting a hand flat against the mattress, Bucky pushes himself over Steve, and then he dips down and presses his lips to Steve’s. It’s so quick and nonchalant, like he’s been kissing him good night all this time.

For all the times Bucky has tried to appear certain about absolutely everything since he got here, he truly looks it now; there’s no fear. So, Steve knows he’s done something right.

“I used to do that in the war, right?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah, you did.” A moment of quiet.

Barely a whisper, Steve says, “Can you do it again?”

Bucky kisses him again, giving Steve long enough to settle into the rich slide of his lips. When Buck pulls back, he sits all the way up and hides his mouth behind a curled metal hand; his eyes give away the smile. Steve rests a hand on Bucky’s bent knee, takes a deep breath. Soothed.

Here Bucky is; clawed back and reborn. Steve’s beginning and end, and the pulpy mess that’s been shoved into the intermission of them.

Tilting his head, Bucky says, “You’re still sweet on me.”

“Yeah,” Steve laughs. “God, of course. Always.”



The next morning, they pack up Bucky’s things. His cards are carefully tucked into a suitcase with all the clothes he’s gathered since he arrived. Steve brings down a little clip that goes on the bristles of his toothbrush, so it doesn’t touch anything gross. Each book is slipped neatly into a side pocket, where the corners won’t bend or crease.

Bucky takes Steve’s hand, pretending he’s been doing it all along. Steve opens the door and lets Bucky lead the way.

They step out together.

Notes:

omg this is actually FINISHED. This essentially turned into my quarantine hobby and if you read the entire thing, I adore you for it.

I'm still working on how to split up the sequel (bc I'm going back to school very soon, I want fewer, longer chapters). I plan on posting the first part in about 2 weeks.

Anyways, stay safe and be kind.

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