SquidgeWorld Archive

Taking in Strays

It had been three weeks now, since Steve had taken him in. Well, that wasn't quite true. It had been three weeks since Nick Fury had reluctantly arranged for another building for them to live in; one that wasn't known to what was left of Hydra. He was still distrustful of Bucky, and understandably so, but he had resigned himself to the fact that Steve insisted on staying close to him. They both had their apartments, only separated by a hallway. Other people lived there, too: all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who were there "for their own safety", and this time Fury didn't even bother to pretend they were anything else but that. So, it was perfectly safe for him to be alone, even if he wouldn't be able to defend himself - which he still very much was.

Steve had insisted, though, that Bucky would stay with him "until he got better", whatever that may mean. Reluctantly, he had taken up residence on Steve's couch. Obviously Steve had offered him the bed - Bucky would not have expected otherwise. It was such a Steve thing to do. But Bucky had shut that down, saying: "I might be an assassin now, but I'm still not the kind of man who kicks a person out of his own bed." He had meant it as somewhat of a joke, but it didn't come out as light-hearted as he had hoped. It made Steve cringe and drop the subject. Bucky had felt bad about it, but didn't apologize, feeling more words would only make him say worse things.

They had settled into a routine of sorts, where Steve let him have some privacy, despite some overprotective hovering.

A semblance of normalcy.

Now, Bucky was sitting on that couch where he basically lived. Tony Stark had donated him a tablet, and he was trying to catch up on history reading Wikipedia, cursing under his breath every time he touched something, and the thing didn't do what he wanted. I didn't help that his metal fingers weren't really able to control the screen. Fortunately he was right-handed, but still. It annoyed him.

"I fucking hate touch screens," he uttered just as Steve came in.

"We can get you a laptop, if that suits you better", he said casually.

Bucky's demeanor softened as he saw his friend, not wanting the atmosphere to go sour.

"Hey, welcome back," he managed, and it actually sounded cordial.

Steve flashed him a smile. "How was today?" he asked.

Bucky always wondered if it was mere politeness, or if Steve genuinely wanted to know what was going on in the deep recesses of his mind. And what he would do if he truly knew what went on there.

"Okay," Bucky replied, "mostly I've been cursing at technology and longing dearly for the days when devices basically just came with an on-and-off switch and nothing more. But, otherwise fine...as much as I can be, I guess."

Steve nodded and sat down next to him on the couch. He took the tablet from him, putting it on the coffee table. "You'll get the hang of it soon enough," he said, sounding genuinely supportive. Not once in those three weeks had Steve come across as patronizing, something Bucky greatly appreciated. He knew that he was sort of lost; he just didn't like it to be rubbed in.

"I bought some food. There's some shepherd's pie, if you're hungry. It's just supermarket stuff, not like Mom used to make it, but I seem to remember you were fond of it. And some chocolate pudding, too. You used to gobble that up until your face was sticky with the stuff."

Bucky really wanted to say that he didn't remember, that those memories were gone and might never return. But, he settled for a "thank you", not wanting to discourage Steve's efforts.

Steve got up again and said: "Before we eat, though, I want you to meet someone..."

Bucky felt a slight tinge of panic: "Steve, no, please. I know you mean well, but it's hard for me to be around people. It's bad enough with Sam and Natasha, as much as they're nice to me."

"I know, but this is different. Just, wait here...okay?"

Bucky sighed, and tried to straighten his clothes somewhat - but the hoodie and jeans were in no way what he would have considered "being presentable" in his younger days - from what he remembered anyway. He found himself hiding his metal hand in his pocket. He didn't like being like this. Vulnerable. It did not suit him.

As he glanced back at the door, he saw Steve carry in a cardboard box.

"You brought home a very small person?" Bucky jested.

"No, better!"

As Steve opened the cardboard box, Bucky could see the small, ginger head of a small kitten that looked at its surrounding with large eyes filled with confusion. The tiny mouth opened, letting out something between a whimper and a meow.

Bucky frowned.

"A cat? You got a cat?"

"Yes," Steve beamed, "isn't it wonderful? This little guy didn't have a home and I thought he could live with us."

"Steve, listen to me. Firstly, there's no living with us, okay? I live down the hall and that's where I'll be moving my ass as soon as you stop this whole...overprotectiveness thing. Second, I hate cats."

"What, how can anyone hate cats? They are so cute and fluffy and funny. And wait, do you remember disliking cats? You never mentioned when we were kids."

"No, but I remember you tormenting me with hours of cat video's on - what's that internet page with all the short films called again? TubeSomething? Anyway, I didn't like them then, and I don't like them now. Cats are assholes," Bucky spat. "People who like living with cats don't mind living with assholes. That's the truth, and I'm not one of those people."

Steve looked at Bucky as he sat on his couch, surrounded by cushions and a blanket draped over his knees - looking more ragged and lost than he could remember from any of his memories. Bucky felt his gaze, and looked straight back at him, with both sadness and defiance in his eyes. He realized that he might no longer necessarily be talking about cats, but about them, and he knew Steve knew, too.

Bucky sighed, his demeanor softening. "You can't keep taking in strays, Steve. You can't save everyone. I know you have such a big heart and a ridiculous sense of justice - but, that's not how the real world works."

Steve stat down next to him, box on his lap. He hung his head ever so slightly, looking at the kitten, not meeting Bucky's eyes. "I know, Buck" he finally said, "I know the world isn't perfect. It never was and it never will be. But I figure if we just try, we can make it a better place - one person at a time, you know? If we don't try then what's the point of even getting up every day? "

The words pulled on Bucky's heartstrings, and the thing that moved him most was that the man before him actually meant it. Whether righteousness or childlike naiveté, his childhood friend truly believed in making the world a better place. And ultimately, that's what made him a hero. While Bucky could not remember much of their past still, he could see clear as day why he would once have befriended this boy. And even why he had once been protective of him - back when he was younger and his body more fragile.

The kitten, unimpressed by the conversation had by the humans, grew tired of being in the box. Letting out a more pronounced "meow" now, it struggled free. As it crawled out of the box, Bucky could see it was missing one of its front paws. That didn't stop it, though, as it cheerfully hopped towards Bucky, sniffing his knee.

"Oh, Steve. Not only do you bring home an abandoned kitten, you bring home a broken kitten. I swear, that's just so like you."

Steve faced him now, and Bucky swore he could see a glisten of tears in his eyes. In any case, that was a terribly sad look he gave him.

"It's not broken, Bucky, and neither are you."

Bucky took a deep breath. He had been avoiding this conversation, but he guessed now was as good a time as any.

"I am broken, Steve. I know you don't want to hear that, but in your heart you know it's true. And...that doesn't mean I can't get...better...but I can't pretend nothing has happened..."

"I'm not asking that," Steve cut him off, tears welling up in his eyes for earnest now. It seemed the kitten could sense his grief and it headbutted his thigh, resulting in a gentle pet from the Captain.

"Please," Bucky continued, "let me finish. It's hard enough as it is. I know you're not asking, but you're hoping and I can see it in your eyes. I just can't deal with that right now; it feels like I'm disappointing you."

Steve Rogers shook his head, opening his mouth as if wanting to say something, but silencing himself.

"If you are my friend, Steve, if you truly care for me as you say you do - you're going to have to accept the damage that was done to me. And I'll have to accept it, too, in time. We can't gloss over it. We can't just go back to Brooklyn and be kids again and pretend everything's going to be okay...and..."

Bucky stopped speaking as he saw that every word hurt his friend more than any punch he could ever throw.

Steve took a deep breath, fighting the tears in his eyes and nodded shakily.

"I know that," he whispered, "It just felt good the pretend for a little bit, you know." He pulled the kitten on his lap, petting it, holding it almost like a child would hold a stuffed animal for comfort. The little cat purred.

A memory flashed before Bucky's eyes. One he had had before - but never quite so vivid. He and little Steve pulling the cushions off the couch, sitting on the floor, wrapped in a blanket to fight the cold. He would tease Steve so much, sometimes even getting him to polish his shoes. Because he knew that Steve totally would. Because he was a nice guy. Because he looked up to him. God, Bucky thought, he was such as asshole sometimes. Much worse than a cat. But then, there were other nights where they'd just play board games by candlelight and talk about the past, the future and things that mattered to them. Those were precious, precious shards of the past.

Pushing back the memories, he got up, took the cushions from the couch and threw them on the floor. His friend looked at him with bafflement as Bucky sat down on them and reached out his hand - the flesh-and-blood one - towards Steve.

"C'mon, Rogers, get down here."

"What on Earth are you doing?"

"Pretending,” Bucky said, "I do remember some things, you know."

Steve nodded and reached for his hand gratefully, sitting down next to the person he cared for the most in this world. He was careful not the throw off the kitten that was snoozing in his lap. It was hardly even bothered by the move. It just yawned and closed its eyes again.

Bucky took the blanket and threw it around both their shoulders, as it was big enough for both of them.

"Do they still have Scrabble in this decade?" Bucky asked. "Or Monopoly?"

Steve smiled through his tears. "You know I hate Monotony, Buck." Realizing what he said, he bit his lip. "Or well, you might not know anymore...but I guess now you do. I might have Scrabble somewhere, but then I don't want to move the lil' guy," he said as he pointed at the tiny feline.

Bucky carefully reached out for the kitten and petted its orange fur as it purred, half-asleep.

"That's okay. We can just sit here for a while. Unless you want to shine my shoes."

"You remember."

"Yeah."

Unexpectedly, Steve pulled him into an embrace. His arms were much stronger than Bucky remembered. He didn't quite know how to react, but he ended up reciprocating, hugging his friend tightly. Bucky felt...safe, a feeling he has almost completely forgotten, and suddenly he did not want to let go.

The little cat, annoyed at all this moving around, hopped off Steve's lap and went to explore the living room.

"Thank you for doing this," Steve whispered.

"Thank you for not giving up on me," Bucky replied.

As they pulled away from each other, he could see so much love and hurt in the Captain's eyes.

Then, something unexpected happened. Steve put his hand on his cheek. Tentatively, as if asking permission. Mesmerized, Bucky did not pull away. His friend leaned in for a kiss. It was timid and trembling, much like you'd expect from a schoolboy. But as Bucky parted his lips and gently grabbed on to Steve's shoulder, he felt encouraged and grew bolder - kissing him in earnest now, pulling him close.

Bucky was utterly confused, but in the best of ways. As the kiss was finally broken, he whispered: "I don't remember this...from before."

"No...this is new," Steve said. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to take advantage...I just..."

"You just wanted to feel close."

Steve nodded.

It was Bucky who pulled him into his arms now, offering him comfort. Steve rested his head on his chest, burying his face in the fabric of his clothes.

"I'm so sorry about everything, Buck. I'm so sorry I let you fall. I'm sorry we didn't look for you harder.  I'm sorry..."

"Don't. No more 'sorry', Steve. No more 'sorry' between us. Life's too damn short."

Steve just stayed curled up in Bucky's arms for the longest time. Bucky stroked his hair with his real hand, pressing his lips against the Captain's temple. Steve let him. He seemed smaller than he was now, much more like the boy Bucky used to know - and remembered in flashes.
Bucky had been so consumed by his own pain, that he had forgotten that war and death had left a mark on his friend, as well. And everyone just expected him to be strong. It was easy to forget that Steve had lost so much, too.

Neither quite knew for how long they sat there. Steve only broke free when he heard his stomach grumble audibly.

"I'll get working on that food, if you don't mind," he said as he finally regained composure.

"It'll probably do me good, too".

As Steve disappeared in the kitchen, Bucky stretched out on the cushions. He felt strangely at peace. There was still sadness, there was still hurt, and guilt - but it seemed to have taken a step back now and he was able to simply appreciate the experience of his body feeling good, of him feeling cared for and loved.
The last rays of evening light fell on his face as the orange sun was setting over the skyline, and he took in the beauty of that sight. For the first time since regaining a sense of who he was, he was actually grateful to be alive. He closed his eyes and allowed himself a brief moment of happiness.

A wet feeling on his finger made him snap his eyes back open. The ginger kitten was licking him, looking at him with curious eyes.

"C'mere," he said to the cat, picking it up with just one hand to put it on his lap. He petted it gently, not fully trusting his own strength. The tiny feline seemed to enjoy the sensation and gave him little headbutts.

"I'll make you a deal, Cat,” Bucky said, "I'll try not to be an asshole if you try to not be one either...deal?"
The kitten just looked at him with big, greenish eyes and replied with a soft "meow" even though it likely did not understand a single word of what he had said.

"Careful," he heard Steve's voice as he walked out of the kitchen with two plates. "If you keep going that way it will be your cat, too."

"Like there was any question about that since the second you brought it here...considering your stubborn ass is so intent on keeping us both here. But I'm warning you Steve, you’re the one who's going to take out that litter box."

Steve set the plates down on the table and grinned. "Now that's how I remember you."

Bucky saw his face change again, afraid he might have said something wrong. He wanted Steve to have this moment. "Yeah, well, I might have cleaned up some of your messes but I'm drawing the line at cat shit."

That lit up his friend's face again. They settled across each other at the table. Only as he took the first few bites, did Bucky realize how hungry he had actually been. Listening to his body was still a problem, one that he wasn't going to solve overnight. He dug in eagerly, hardly even minding the taste until there was something familiar. The taste...it sparked something in his mind. Letting the shepherd's pie infiltrate his taste buds, he closed his eyes.

"You boys need to eat," a voice echoed in his mind, "you're both so skinny."

It was like a memory of a memory, a faint echo. He remembered the way the light fell into the room. The calloused female hands that put a plate with food in front of him. His own hands - both still real - holding mismatched cutlery. Steve, much smaller but with the same big blue eyes, sitting in front of him and smiling. One of the female hands stroking his hair. Him looking up and seeing the same blue eyes Steve had in an older, kind face.

"You know you're always welcome here, James," the woman said.

Bucky almost choked on his bite and Steve noticed his distress. He looked at him with disconcern, but containing instincts to be overly protective.

"Would you like something else?"

Bucky shook his head.

"The food. And this...," he said as he gestured at the domestic scene of them both sitting at the dinner table, "it's making me remember. A little. I think...I think I remember your mother."

Steve looked at him with eyes filled with hope. He reached out his hand and gently squeezed Bucky's wrist.

"She always liked you," he finally said.

"She would," Bucky smirked, "I was the only one keeping you out of trouble."

Steve chuckled.

Part of Bucky wanted the preserve this moment. To keep it frozen like in a snow globe, unchanged for decades. To never see Steve's smile fade. But another part of him was getting scared now. The part that feared Steve was getting his hopes up too much; that he expected more than Bucky could give him.

He didn't even have to say anything. Steve picked up on the change of mood immediately.

"What's wrong, bad memories?"

Bucky shook his head.

"No, it's just, I don't want to be a spoilsport, Steve, but I meant what I said before. I'm grateful what you're doing for me, and I like the pretending but...I'm not as okay as you want me to be."

"Understood," Steve replied calmly yet firmly this time, simply giving his wrist a little squeeze. Bucky could only hope that he truly did.

They finished the rest of their meal in silence, and no more memories came.

After dinner they watched the evening news as they sat on the cushions. They both liked to watch it, as it kept them up to date with what was going on in the world now. They sat in front of the TV with bowls of chocolate pudding and it turned out that, yes, Bucky still seemed to love the taste and that yes, it still got all over his face when he ate it. Steve almost didn't have the heart to tell him - almost. Finally he told him, and Bucky rubbed at his lips and the corners of his mouth, but dark smudges still remained.

"Here, let me." Steve laughed as he reached for Bucky's face. He ran his fingers over the sticky spot, brushing his fingers over Bucky’s lips. Almost involuntarily, Bucky pressed a chaste kiss on the Captain’s fingers. It was so subtle it could have been ignored, mistaken for just a twitch of the lips – but it wasn’t. Steve froze, his hand still on Bucky’s cheek, looking at his face like it was the best thing to come into the world since someone invented the wheel. Bucky gently reached for Steve’s hand, pulled it down from his mouth and slid it between his palms.

“I don’t know why I did that,” Bucky whispered, “maybe I just needed to feel close, too.”

Steve moved his forehead against Bucky’s, closing his eyes. Their noses were touching, their mouths less than an inch apart. Bucky could feel Steve’s breath on his lips, and it was like he was breathing life itself into him.

“I don’t know how to do this either,” he said ever-so softly.”Whatever this even is.”

Bucky let go of his Steve’s hand and cupped his face. He leaned in to kiss him and it was soft but also determined. Steve tasted like summer and chocolate and home, and while he didn’t know what the hell he was ever trying to do it felt right. He leaned in, burying his face in Steve's neck and felt strong arms close around him once more. He felt the Captain taking in a deep breath and in his most cautious of fantasies, he imagined he reminded Steve of home, too. Bucky held on to him with a need that stemmed from his very core as he gently nuzzled Steve's neck and let his lips brush over the exposed skin above his collar. Steve carefully ran a hand through his hair, and while his first instinct was to pull away, an even stronger force compelled him to stay.

"Come to bed with me," he heard Steve say.

Bucky pulled away incredulously, looking wide-eyed at his childhood friend. Steve's expression betrayed that he had indeed said those words, and he averted his eyes from Bucky's gaze.

"I didn't...," Steve stammered, "I didn't mean it like that. I mean, I'd never ask for anything you're not willing to give. But the bed is big enough and you don't need live on the couch."

"Okay," Bucky said.

"Wait, okay?"

"Steve Rogers, I might not remember much, but I know you enough to know you'll be a perfect gentleman."

An hour later they were both sitting on opposite sides of the bed, with a bunch of Scrabble tiles in between them on the sheets. The ginger kitten had grown tired of exploring the apartment and had claimed Steve's thigh as its property, and had fallen asleep there.

"Now I know you're bullshitting me. No way that's an actual word," Bucky proclaimed as Steve spelled out 'WALKMAN' with the tiles.

Steve laughed, tilting his head back. It felt genuine and unguarded.

"I swear, Buck, it was a thing. It was a portable device for audiocassettes. Like a tiny reel-to-reel player you could carry around."

Bucky shook his head.

"Man, this world has produced a lot of weird stuff in the past few decades."

He felt his mouth contort into a smile and let himself go with it. He petted the small cat, which remained blissfully asleep even during his touch.

"You know that you'll never get it to sleep in its basket now, right? It’s going to sleep on top of you and one of these days you're going to wake to a cat sitting halfway across your face while farting on you. Let it never be said I didn’t warn you."

Steve snorted, almost choking with laughter this time. Bucky remember that laugh. Remembered it made him happy.

"I'm serious, Steve," Bucky said. "You shouldn't take strays into your goddamn bed. You'll never get them out." The smirk on his face contradicted his claim to being serious, though.

"You know, I think I'm okay with that," Steve replied as he reached for Bucky's cheek. The Scrabble tiles between them were getting displaced but neither of them really cared. Steve moved to kiss him again, and this time when their lips met it felt less like a desperate need for human touch, and more like something born of joy - however cautious that joy was.

The kitten woke up, bit one of the tiles, decided it wasn't edible and hit it with its paw as if to punish is for the lack of taste.

Bucky smiled. "So, what are you going to call it?"

"I don't know, suggestions?"

"You should call it Tripod."

"Bucky..."

"Hey, I get to joke about that 'cause I'm a gimp."

"Bucky, please..."

"Don't look at me like that, Steve. You know, I think it just sometimes helps me to acknowledge it, but not in a tragic sort of way. I think…I think I remember joking about serious things, even before. All joking aside, though, I don't want to sleep in this thing," he said as he pointed towards his hoodie, "and if I'm going to stay the night I need you to be comfortable with it - well, as much as we both can be."

Steve's expression was confused, like he had no understanding at all about what Bucky had just said, but comprehension appeared on his face as Bucky tugged at the zipper of his hoodie. He just nodded and looked at Bucky as he cast aside the garment. He was left with a black sleeveless undershirt, that didn't entirely cover the scars of where flesh joined with metal.

Bucky felt exposed. He had seen himself in the bathroom mirror many times since he decided he wanted to by "Bucky" again. He had studied the scars and touched them one by one, making sure they were real and not figments of his imagination. He was more okay with it than he'd expected to be. It didn't feel like an acute loss. He didn't really actively remember what his human hand had felt like. What did bother him, though, was the way it made him look different from the man Steve had known as his friend.

And when he looked the Captain in the eye, he could swear he saw a glisten of tears in his eyes again, and perhaps that was even worse than plain disgust.

"Hope is doesn't give you nightmares," Bucky said with what he meant to be a grin, but was really a just a contortion of his mouth in an attempt to fight emotions."

"What gives me nightmares,” Steve said as he reached out his right hand, "is what they did to you. But not who or what you are, Bucky. Never that."

Bucky reached for Steve's outstretched hand and metal fingers entwined with real ones. Steve brought the metal hand to his lip and kissed it gently. Bucky could barely register it with his pressure sensors, but the visuals more than made up for it. Steve's determination was that of a stubborn teenager, bordering on silly, but it made Bucky's heart melt nonetheless. Steven goddamn Rogers, who thought you could make things better with a sense of justice, compassion, and apparently hugs and kisses. Another man might have mocked him. Hell, he might have mocked him in another time and place. But here and now, he couldn’t find it anything else but endearing.

"Hey Buck, you want to pretend a little more?"

Bucky just nodded.

Steve swept the Scrabble tiles off the bed and into their box, never minding what the score was. He pulled Bucky close to him and smiled.

"You know, sometimes when we were young, and I was still sick a lot you'd stay the night to make sure I was okay. It was really sweet, actually."

"And now you're making sure I'm okay? You're turning into a sap in your old age, Steve."

"Oh, shaddup".

They both grinned now. Steve took off his own shirt and Bucky couldn't help but admire that perfect body. Even now, he still didn't know where this would go, but he certainly liked the path they were on. Friends...or more than friends, it seemed to flow naturally and seamlessly into each other.

Steve spooned Bucky, wrapping his arm around him, and it felt like both the most natural and the most exceptional thing at once.

The kitten had moved away when they moved into position, and Bucky could feel the fur at his and Steve's feet.

"Sergeant", Steve said.

"Huh?"

"I think that's a good name for the cat. Sergeant. Because if you're right and cats are jerks then it's only fitting I name it after you."

"Hey, what did I do now?"

"Nothing," Steve grinned, "but I'm sure you will sooner or later."

They both laughed.

As they grew drowsy, their bodies still remained entwined.

"Hey, Steve?" Bucky asked sleepily.

"Uh-huh?"

"Maybe one of these days you could stop being the perfect gentleman."

Bucky could feel Steve’s smile as he placed a kiss on the nape of his neck.

"Whenever you're ready, Buck, whenever you're ready."

"Good, 'cause let's be honest, you're well on your way to becoming a centenarian virgin and it's sort of tragic."

Another chuckle.

"See, I told you you'd be a jerk sooner a later."

"Well, you know me."

And the thing is, Steve did. In the past few weeks Bucky had become more like, well, Bucky, and less like the Asset. There were facial expressions, phrases, gestures that came from the man he used to be. And while he knew he could never fully return to being that man, maybe he could build something new based on those remnants. Something that was almost as good. Something that Steve could be proud of.

For the first time in decades, James Buchanan Barnes allowed himself the luxury of hope - and it felt good.