When news finally came, it was delivered by Evan’s friend Rodney, an often-cranky man who loved science the way Steve loved art. He turned up at Steve’s door well after midnight, pounding loudly and not caring about any of the other residents who might be disturbed by the noise.
Steve put on his robe and yanked the door open, blinking at the light coming from the sconces in the hall.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. And the only reason I came all the way over here was to let you know that your man is with John back at our place. I assumed you’d want to know.”
Steve grabbed hold of the door frame with one hand. “Bucky’s with John? Are you…Are you sure it’s him?”
Rodney gave him a baleful look. “Would I be here otherwise? Get dressed.”
Steve had no memory of putting on his clothes, no memory of the three-block trip to get to Rodney and John’s rooms above the Atlantis Café. When he saw Bucky sitting on Rodney’s couch, thin and solemn but most definitely Bucky Barnes, Steve was pretty sure he forgot his own name.
He dropped to his knees before Bucky, like a supplicant, and his hands hovered between them, afraid to touch. Afraid it wouldn’t be welcome.
“Buck?”
“I remember you,” Bucky said hesitantly. “I know you.”
“I thought you were dead,” Steve whispered.
He’d left Bucky in Argonne. How could he have done that? He should’ve gone back. Should’ve made sure.
“I think I was.”
“The Germans had him,” John said quietly. Steve had forgotten he was in the room, perched on the arm of the couch. “Prisoner of war. He escaped right before Armistice. I don’t know for sure where he’s been since, but I suspect he’s been living rough.”
Steve didn’t ask any questions. He didn’t need to know how John had found Bucky, or how Bucky had stumbled across John, or where he’d been these last few years, or why he hadn’t tried to get back home.
All that mattered was Bucky was alive. Nothing in Steve’s life had been simple since the war, during or after, but how he felt about Bucky, that was the simplest thing in the world. He’d loved him since they were boys together. He’d love Bucky forever.
“Welcome back, Bucky,” Steve said.
He tentatively put his hands on Bucky’s knees, breathless from the solid feel of him. Real. Not a ghost.
“Sorry it took so long,” Bucky said.
When he started to cry, Steve gathered him up and cried with him.
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Fill 3/3: Gay Paree 'verse with bonus Evan/David and John/Rodney
Date: 2020-09-11 11:50 pm (UTC)Steve put on his robe and yanked the door open, blinking at the light coming from the sconces in the hall.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. And the only reason I came all the way over here was to let you know that your man is with John back at our place. I assumed you’d want to know.”
Steve grabbed hold of the door frame with one hand. “Bucky’s with John? Are you…Are you sure it’s him?”
Rodney gave him a baleful look. “Would I be here otherwise? Get dressed.”
Steve had no memory of putting on his clothes, no memory of the three-block trip to get to Rodney and John’s rooms above the Atlantis Café. When he saw Bucky sitting on Rodney’s couch, thin and solemn but most definitely Bucky Barnes, Steve was pretty sure he forgot his own name.
He dropped to his knees before Bucky, like a supplicant, and his hands hovered between them, afraid to touch. Afraid it wouldn’t be welcome.
“Buck?”
“I remember you,” Bucky said hesitantly. “I know you.”
“I thought you were dead,” Steve whispered.
He’d left Bucky in Argonne. How could he have done that? He should’ve gone back. Should’ve made sure.
“I think I was.”
“The Germans had him,” John said quietly. Steve had forgotten he was in the room, perched on the arm of the couch. “Prisoner of war. He escaped right before Armistice. I don’t know for sure where he’s been since, but I suspect he’s been living rough.”
Steve didn’t ask any questions. He didn’t need to know how John had found Bucky, or how Bucky had stumbled across John, or where he’d been these last few years, or why he hadn’t tried to get back home.
All that mattered was Bucky was alive. Nothing in Steve’s life had been simple since the war, during or after, but how he felt about Bucky, that was the simplest thing in the world. He’d loved him since they were boys together. He’d love Bucky forever.
“Welcome back, Bucky,” Steve said.
He tentatively put his hands on Bucky’s knees, breathless from the solid feel of him. Real. Not a ghost.
“Sorry it took so long,” Bucky said.
When he started to cry, Steve gathered him up and cried with him.