Save Me, Steve. // Captain America

13- Bucky

They've been staring at me for hours- or at least, that's how it feels, but it's really just been a few seconds. They all then suddenly leap out of their seats and almost freak the shit out of me as Falcon lunges at me. Now that was a sight to see. I automatically bring my left arm up to block his fist which is fast approaching my head, my other hand reaching behind me for my knife attached to the back of my belt, gleefully imagining shoving it into his gut and twisting the blade-

But it's not there. The belt or my knife. Or any of my gear. Shit. 

I hesitate as Falcons fist bounces off of my arm, making that horrific sound of skin and bone smashing against metal. I look around me and see a red-headed woman grabbing at Falcon's arms and trying to pin them behind his back, and a blonde tank of a man to the right of me just completely frozen in place.

"Bucky, it's okay. Just take a deep breath." He says, taking one step towards me with his palms up and arms outstretched. 

I blink once. Steve. I look at the woman again. Romanoff. I sigh and my arms drop to my sides like heavy weights. Well, I mean that is half true, I guess.

By this point she'd succeeded in restraining Falcon and shoving him back into an armchair, so now the only he thing he could attack me with is his eyes. I can literally feel the thousands of daggers he must be throwing at me right now.

"Steve." I hoarsely whisper, my throat now fucked from not talking for god knows how long. Steve begins to walk towards me again but I hear Romanoff clear her throat, staring at me whilst slightly shaking her head, frowning.

"Don't, Steve." She says, narrowing her eyes at me. I grin at her.

"Natasha please." He says gently yet firmly, waving a hand in the direction of the door. "Please, it's probably best if you left."

"What?! Are you fucking-"

"That's enough, Natasha. Now please go. Both of you." Steve looks at the floor as they shuffle out through the front door, Romanoff still has Falcon's hands firmly gripped behind his back whilst she grumbles to herself; probably some angry witch's spell she's planning to kill me with. 

Steve slowly closes the door on their glaring faces, and when it swings shut he doesn't immediately turn around to face me, but instead puts both of his hands on the doorframe and rests his forehead on the glossy wooden door. We both stand in silence, I don't feel like rushing him and interrupting whatever he's thinking about. I'll show him I can be patient.

"I'm sorry." He says, letting his palms slide down the front door as he turns back to me. 

"Didn't know you had that in you."

"Had what?" He said, puzzled.

"The balls to stand up to your mates like that."

He cocked his head to the left slightly and raises an eyebrow. "You didn't?"

I pause for a second to deliberate before admitting, "Yeah, I did." A smile suddenly spreads across my face and Steve hesitates before the left side of his mouth twitches into a half hearted grin.

"May I?" I say, gesturing to the armchair behind me. I can still be fucking polite, y'know. Steve just shrugs and I sigh as I let myself fall backwards, freely losing control of my limbs for a second and hopefully landing in the large chair and not on the floor. I've got enough bruises, thanks very much. I'd like to keep my ass in tip top condition.

I make myself comfortable as Steve heaves himself over to the sofa opposite me and gently perches on the edge of it. I yawn and stretch my legs out, wiggling my toes at Steve who suddenly seems to find the ceiling incredibly interesting.

"You lost something?" His eyes flick down to me as I break the silence. I lazily point a finger upwards. "Up there. Was it expensive? Do you need a stool?"

He fixes his gaze up at the ceiling again. "What- no, I'm just, well, y'know-"

"Not really." I yawn again, like I hadn't just woken up from sleeping for over 24 hours.

"I'm just a little uncomfortable, that's all. I mean with everything that's happened over the past-" He pauses for a second, deep in thought, before chuckling quietly."- over the past 70 odd years, I guess."

"And to think I dreamed of living a quiet, normal life." I say sarcastically but meaning every single word, staring at my bare toes but not really seeing them. Maybe that was a good thing; I haven't had a manicure in 90 years. Maybe I should make an appointment to get one sometime.

"It wasn't just you- we both did." Steve says, "and maybe that was too much to ask for."

"Maybe. Maybe that's what you deserve, but something took it away." I barely realise what I'm saying but I don't stop myself. "Someone took it away."

I don't even realise I said it out loud until Steve looks at me suddenly, his eyes large and shiny like the big-stupid-soppy-ass-puppy he truly is.

"Bucky-"

I take a deep breath. It's now or never. "Forgive me for all the hurt that I caused you."

Steve says nothing, and all the moisture in my mouth disappears.

"Fuck, just don't listen to me, okay? I'm talking out my ass." I rub my face with my hand roughly, my fingers trembling a little.

"Bucky-"

"Maybe I overslept, come to think of it my head feels a bit weird, not that it hasn't felt weird for-"

"Bucky!" Steve bursts out, almost shouting if he were anyone else but Steve. He intwines his fingers and looks around the room before he mumbles something I almost don't hear. "I forgive you."

My breath catches in my mouth and I nearly choke on my own fucking saliva. Very attractive, yes. 

Steve just stares at me as I cough and splutter my way through his words, trying to figure out if what I thought he just said was real or another side affect of my unwanted brain fuckery that decided to evilly mess with me again at the worst moment.

I look at him again and he just blinks, blankly. 

Why would he forgive me? Why would he fucking want to? When I disappeared from his side so long ago only to finally return to him, filled with hatred and rage and darkness, so desperate to feel his precious blood on my hands. When I betrayed him, time and time again and when I can't even control what goes on inside my own head? He should hate me, like I hate myself. He should kill me, like I failed to do.

"You... Forgive me?" I say, my voice cracking deeply.

The left corner of his mouth tugs up into a half smile. "I forgave you a long time ago."

"But- why?" I whisper, leaning forward and looking deeper into his unblinking eyes. 

"Because you're Bucky, and there's no way in hell I wouldn't forgive you." He said, sounding just like me and yet still fucking polite, as always. "You'll always be Bucky, memories or not. Both arms or not." He pauses. "Trying to kill me or not."

Then he stands up, strolls over to my armchair and pulls me up by my arm so we're eye to eye. 

He doesn't waste a single second as he swiftly leans forward and puts his lips on mine.

I guess it's too late to worry about morning breath.