What the Water Gave Me

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Bucky returned late that night. Steve didn’t dare go to sleep until he returned, and when he did, Steve watched him gather his board from the sand feet deep in the water and bring it up. Instead of saying anything, however, he only set it on a rock and started to sink back down.

“Hey,” Steve called out and reached over, slapping the water. “Are you gonna talk to me or not?” The look Bucky gave him over his shoulder was seething. “So it’s the silent treatment, huh?” Bucky glared for a second, and then took his board and Steve almost grinned in victory.

“You can’t call it the silent treatment,” Bucky wrote. “Because I literally can’t talk.”

“Stop being a snob, you know what I mean,” Steve said. There was quiet for a moment while Bucky carefully dipped his board in the water and began to clean it off, leaning against a rock across the cave and glaring at Steve and the cave ceiling creaked, as though it too couldn’t stand the quiet. Bucky did not seem too interested in writing more. Steve looked at him and swallowed. “You oughta come up here with me,” he said quietly. Bucky let out a huff and rolled his eyes.

“Not on your life,” he wrote and flashed the board at Steve so fast Steve hardly had time to see. Then, he went back to cleaning it off.

“I came clean,” Steve said. “I told you what I thought.”

“Did you learn a powerful lesson about lying?” Bucky asked and Steve wrinkled his nose.

“You have to understand,” Steve said. “You gotta get it, at least a little.”

“I don’t,” Bucky said. “I told you I loved you right from the start, as soon as I even knew how. I let you know in every way I could and you told me you didn’t love me back. I had to learn how to be okay with that, thinking that there was no way you’d love me and I was silly to think you might.” Bucky turned the board around and rubbed it off with his forearm.

“Well-” Steve started and Bucky cut him off with a sharp hiss. He raised his marker. “Fine,” Steve rolled his eyes. “Keep going. Tell me how awful I am.”

“I will,” Bucky wrote. “I will tell you, because you were awful! You tell me you love me, like suddenly it’ll make everything better, like suddenly it all doesn’t matter anymore and you’re just as innocent as can be and it wasn’t okay! You hurt me, and I don’t care how much you love me anymore. You’re just like all the rest and all humans do is hurt me, so I’m done with all of you.”

Steve stared at Bucky and maybe he was jumping to conclusions, but he thought the particular set of Bucky’s jaw told him he was right.

“Did you just compare me to Harry?” Steve breathed. “Is that what that was?”

“At least Harry was upfront about his feelings,” Bucky wrote. “Harry didn’t lie right to my face.”

Steve felt hit. The wind was knocked out of him. He stared at Bucky, slackjawed and for that silent while, Bucky set his whiteboard back up and turned his face away from Steve and covered his eyes in the crook of his elbow. Steve looked from the scars on Bucky’s tail and back to his hidden face.

“That’s what you think of me,” he whispered. “I’m on par with the guy that beat you?”

Bucky let out a shaking moan.

“Look at me, would you?” Steve demanded once he’d gotten ahold of himself. His throat was closing up. “Or don’t, I guess. I can’t ask you to look at someone you hate that much.”

Bucky whimpered, but he squeezed tighter into himself and tucked his chin into his chest.

“Are you gonna let me explain, Buck?” Steve asked. Bucky looked at him over the top of his elbow. “I was scared, alright? Because I’ve lost you a hundred different times in a hundred different ways and I just can’t imagine doing it one more time loving you like this. If I didn’t… Didn’t love you. And you didn’t love me. Splitting up again might be easier.” Bucky stared at him. “I know it’s a crappy excuse. And you can still hate me if you want, but I just didn’t want it to hurt anymore. It was selfish. It was dumb. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t hate you,” Bucky wrote, his handwriting shaky. “I didn’t mean it.”

“You might as well,” Steve said. “Cause we can’t make this work no matter what and it’d be great if you could be happy to see me go.”

“How come all we can do is hurt each other?” Bucky wrote after a while and Steve stared at him.

“I dunno,” he said.

That night, Bucky curled up closer to Steve, on a sliver of rock where the water came up and tapered away and Steve scooted closer until they were almost touching, and he pulled his pillow out from under him and offered it to Bucky. Bucky gave him those eyes and then reached over and grabbed his arm and pulled him close, so close both of their heads could fit on one pillow.

“I know you don’t hate me,” Steve said quietly and Bucky leaned over and pecked his forehead with his lips. Then, in a desperate attempt to communicate, Bucky began tracing letters ever so gently onto the back of Steve’s hand.

“I,” Steve said. “That’s an I. L… O… You love me? Is that what you’re trying to say?” Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. “I love you, too. Geez, that hurts to say, doesn’t it?”

Bucky began to trace again.

“T… O… L… D… Told you?” Steve said. Another nod and a quick, weak smile. Steve came closer, close enough to feel Bucky’s soft breath, and pressed his forehead against his. “You were right. I guess you were just the stronger of the both of us, to live with your heart wide open for so long.”

They fell asleep together for the first time in a long time, and Steve felt as though it hurt. It felt as though he was losing him again, and that he was taking a chunk of his soul with him.