Archive of Our Own

Well, maybe it was stupid to even insinuate that he had a romantic partner, but, in his defense, Sam is quite tired that press conferences, where he’s supposed to declare the security of the country, are riddled with questions about his private life, specifically his non-existent love relationships.

"Why did you tell the whole country that you had a partner?" wrote Sarah, accompanied by a bunch of laughing emojis. "Something you want to share with the class, Samuel?" she continued writing. 

Technically he didn’t state anything particular.

At his request, Pepper had managed to arrange a small informal interview with pre-set questions to talk about his personal life and shit for the show. The interviewer, in fact, had followed the script, she had asked something like "So, everyone can see the superhero, but tell us, who can see Sam Wilson? Do you have someone with whom to share moments less glorious than battles?"

And, shit, Sam had the answer on the tip of his tongue, but then the interviewer had added "Or are you free to find that special person?". It was there that the truth fell again, as heavy as the first time he lived it.

But Sam didn't lie when he replied, "No, no, I– I already have my special person, who’s waiting for me at home".

He didn't say anything else, he didn't have to, not now, not to them.

While Sam was no longer in a relationship, he still felt like someone was waiting for him at home. He expected that at least.

"Same as always, Sarah," she replied with a smiling emoji. "Don't get excited."

“Did you know that you are a worldwide trend on the internet?” someone commented behind his back, Sam kept the phone without reading Sarah's answer and smiled at Joaquin. “What was that, Sam? I thought–”

“I know, I know”, he snorted. “But that's how I feel and it's the truth, somehow”, he explained awkwardly. Joaquin tried to hide a laugh as they continued to walk down the aisle.

“Have you seen Bucky?” Joaquin asked with genuine curiosity.

“Not since last night, said he had a fact-finding mission, why?”

“Why?” he repeated between incredulous and amused. “Dude, you just said on national television you have someone waiting for you every night, what do you think–?”

“Hey, that's not what I said”, Sam interrupted with exaggerated movements.

“That's what's being said, Sam, so that's what Bucky will see and hear”, Joaquin pointed out slowly, as if Sam had trouble understanding his words. “Tell me, who do you think he’ll attacks first? You, your neighbors or the receptionist who flirts with you all the time?”

“Bucky didn't– he never–” what? Sam didn't even know what to say about him, he wasn't sure anything about Bucky. “It’s okay, Joaquin, Bucky– I'm sure he won't even know about this for a week”.

It was fortunate that they didn't make a bet on it.

“Since when you do interviews for gossip purposes?” Bucky snapped with a frown, sitting in his chair, with his feet on his couch, behind his desk. Sam shouldn't feel this flutter in the chest.

“When did you come back?” he asked in return. Bucky growled and showed a wry smile.

"A couple of hours ago. Respond”, Bucky ordered abruptly.

Sam took Bucky's feet off the couch and sat in his place, taking as much time as possible to think of an answer that wouldn't give Bucky a chance to scream and be a moron about it.

"Since the press conferences are more interested in my private life than in the missions I'm supposed to be reporting”, he finally responded, shrugging his shoulders and avoiding looking at the pair of eyes with the intention of piercing his skull. “Pepper said it was a good idea”.

“What? Say what's your hobby?”

“Tell them what they want to know on my own terms, y’know, without waiting for someone to make up a story and twist it as it spread”.

“Oh, so right now they’re not twisting it?” snorted Bucky, dragging another of his wry smiles to his lips. Sam shouldn't see him as attractive, Bucky and that smile meant to mock him, God, shouldn't even be looking at his lips.

“No? I mean, of course they'll look for another meaning to what I say, they always do, but– no, this time I really said what I had to say, Buck, there's not much material to interpret anything. I think”.

“You think”, Bucky snorted in disbelief, more for himself than for Sam. “You're all over the internet”, he reported, leaving the shitty smile on his face for longer than Sam can bear, so he drops his head on the back of the couch and watches the ceiling silently.

He knows that Bucky does on purpose, Bucky no longer makes those kinds of visits to his office, those where he greets and hangs out at lunch with him, always putting him on the nerves to the limit, no, no longer; now he only comes to clarify doubts about mission, criticize the reports, criticize him and keep putting him on nerves to the limit. So, Sam is just waiting for the tantrum to end, for Bucky to say what he has to say and for him to leave, that's what happens now.

However, they remain silent for several minutes, more than Sam can tolerate coming from Bucky, and that's a lot to say. When he looks at the soldier again, he's already looking at him, with narrowed and unreadable eyes. Sam never wished so strongly to know what's going through his head.

“What?” Sam asked low, because he has no choice, because he doesn't know what his eyes want to tell him and Bucky doesn't seem to want to start the conversation.

Bucky blinks by looking away, takes a deep breath and straightens his posture in the chair.

“Did you say it, or did they twist it?” he asked in return, with a false calm tone that doesn’t looks with his frown. Before Sam could ask another question, Bucky whispered: “That you already have someone waiting for you at home”.

And there was it, that voice that pretends to be a claim but that manages to filter the slightest break, Sam's fingers melt and his knees are bent from the first time he heard it in the police station, even being with Dr. Raynor, now that he’s alone with Bucky he feels that he’s about to cry, and Sam will do if he hears that broken note once again.

He may even cry over the answer he has to give now, because there won't be any chance to disguise him here, not with Bucky.

“No, yeah, I– I said it”, Sam babbled, tripping over the words in his mouth and the answers in his mind, nothing seemed to be able to agree, it was chaos.

Bucky slowly nodded, looking down at the pile of things on the desk, seemed to be analyzing each and every object.

His gaze was still not comprehensible to Sam, and that broke his heart into more pieces than he could count on, because Sam had already been able to do it, he had already managed to read and understand Bucky, sometimes without even giving him a look. And now there was nothing, it was as if Bucky had closed a door just in his nose.

He had simply chosen not to let him in, he really decided to let Sam out. Is Sam supposed to ask him what's going through his head? How does he do it after Bucky refuses to let him understand? How could he do it after all?

“Did you find any twisted version?” Sam inquired, with the same clumsiness and a little more desperation to listen to Bucky.

“No”, Bucky withered after a few minutes. “I saw parts of the interview, but the internet has a trillion articles that claim... analyze your behavior with a lot of people, you know, to try to figure out who's that you were talking about, your... your special person”.

“Really?” Sam mumbled in surprise. Don't get him wrong, he's genuinely amazed at people's interest, that is, it's not like being with someone would impede his job as Captain America, so why do they even inquire about his supposed partner?

“Aha, that's what they do”, he muttered, finally standing up.

Sam has to swallow and look away again because Bucky is– well, too much. With that tight t-shirt, those military pants, that beard that betrays the days of research and the very familiar form of Bucky in a space that belongs to Sam, God, hopefully Bucky can't hear his heartbeat at this distance because it's a disaster, worse than at his best mark in his morning races.

“Maybe I'll give them a look later”, Bucky offered with a vague shrug of the shoulders and a terrible selfless tone.

“To what? The articles?” he scoffed, looking at Bucky only for a couple of seconds before denying and looking at his hands.

Sam is dying to tell him that it isn’t needy, that he has nothing to look for, he wants to yell at him because it seems that Bucky doesn’t realize who he was talking about, who he has been talking about all this time.

"Yeah, some are funny", he said, in an indecipherable tone, between boring and joking. Sam doesn't know what to think about, so he doesn't, he just speaks without thinking at all about what he's saying.

“Why don't you just ask?” Sam questioned in a low voice, drowned out in curiosity and a little reproach.

Bucky walked to the door, seemingly determined to leave without giving an answer, Sam wasn't going to stop him, the last time it didn't help, it just broke him a little more. Not this time, Sam can't do that to himself anymore.

But Bucky stopped with one hand on his handle, stood very still, as if he wasn't even breathing, and then, with a voice lower than a whisper, so low that Sam was lucky to have heard, Bucky replied: “Because I don't wanna know”.

And he left, leaving Sam with creeps, a hole in his chest and a bunch of words. He left and, again, Sam didn't stop him. He left and this time there weren't answers on the other side of the line.

He left for four whole days and Sam didn't insist on a single one. Can you blame him? Definitely.

A part of him, the most rational, the one who held all the meetings with the veterans, shouts that this is his fault, that all this madness could've been avoided if they had spoken as two normal civilians would've done. But the irrational part of Sam, the one who strives to please others rather than himself, insists that he must give Bucky the space he asked for a few weeks ago, or are they already months? Well, they still feel like years.

"You alright, Sam?" Joaquin asked, with one hand on his shoulder and a worried look.

Sam vaguely remembers his mission instructions, and where his strategic plans should be, he has in mind all the locations Bucky has toured this week for his own mission. Joaquin obviously knows it, that Sam is only physically and that his mind is on another continent, on another mission, with someone else. But Joaquin is also too good to ask him directly.

"Yes, I'm okay", Sam replied as a reflex before sighing. "You were right, Bucky asked about the interview".

Joaquin let out a laugh and nodded palming his back, taking the answer as a sufficient and valid excuse. At least for now.

"Of course he did, man, I think it was the strangest and longest conversation I've ever had with him, you know?" he commented. Wait, what? "He just walked into the flight area and asked me where the hell I had been last week, if I had been with you and why I had let you do that interview with…"

"Did he talk to you?" Sam interrupted with a frown. Joaquin blinked and nodded slowly.

"Yeah? I mean– yes, he did, he was looking for me whenever he came back from his undercover fact-finding missions, but this happened last week, remember? Just when I suggested he'd attack you for the interview", he explained with confusion. "Why?"

"Nothing special, Joaquin, everything's okay" Sam lied, because this is by no means right.

Not because everything's about to go shit, that's long since happened, but because Bucky has decided he'll talk to all the fucking staff except him. Can you blame Sam? Nope.

He has done nothing but give him his stupid space, just as Bucky had asked for, and for what? Just to go around talking about him, talking about everything he doesn't want to tell him personally.

Yes, Sam is furious, outraged and terribly sad.

But now he's Captain America and he has a mission, he cannot fail, neither his team, nor anyone else. Sam manages to crush his emotions until he can bottle them and right after he dives to retrieve a couple of hostages, free a lab and save some test subjects.

Sam doesn't fail himself, or the team, or anyone else.

He has wounds, but there's no loss and that's enough to be able to savor the victory until they reach the SWORD complex.

Well, once the adrenaline has left him and there's no more pressure to keep his emotions going, Sam lets them out and collapses into the office couch. He keeps his eyes open because he's sure that if he closes them he'll be able to see Bucky, not the one who criticizes and leaves, but the Bucky who knocks on the door and asks if he can share lunch with him, the Bucky who drops his head on Sam's lap and tells where his next mission will be, the Bucky who takes his hands and plays with them distractedly, the Bucky who says nothing at all because he watches Sam talk about his day. If he closes them, he'll see the Bucky who left him.

He's not being a dramatic idiot, Sam doesn't tend to overdo it, and he's sure this is no exception, Bucky left him. It's what it is, that's how it happened.

Before Sam can begin to roll down the spiral of sadness, the sound of Sarah's messages resonates throughout the office and brings him back to the surface.

"It would be a good idea for you to declare who your special person is, you know?" read Sam, Sarah sent a picture with a couple of emojis laughing a few seconds later, then another message arrived. "Now I'm not supposed to be your real sister, but the love of your life with a very dark past".

Sam responds to confused emojis and a short "What the fuck?" before opening the image: the headline of an electronic magazine that claims Sarah's not his sister, that she's a woman the Wilsons adopted years ago, that Sam fell in love with her and that she's his special person, all based on the fact that his smile is not so wide with anyone but her.

"No idea. Around here it's a joke, but this could get bigger, don't you think?" replied Sarah. "I gotta go. Take care, Sam".

He just sent a couple of emojis with an affirmative look as a response before leaving the message tray and getting into the dangerous terrain: the internet.

It was enough to look up his name or "Captain America" for a lot of articles about "his special person" to explode in the search engine. There was everything, speculation, evidence, kink, photos, videos, edits and tons of content trying to figure out who was waiting for him at home. And, well, he had to admit that only a few were shit, that like the one Sarah had sent where there were ridiculous theories involving people he hadn't crossed paths more than a word. Then the vast majority were a little more consistent and doable, as long as you didn't know a damn about his private life, of course, because the last ones involved Rhodes, Torres, Danvers, Pepper, a couple of DC friends, and, of course, Bucky.

Sam found himself opening most of the articles that related him with Bucky, maybe was curiosity, maybe was masochism, maybe was nostalgia, whatever, he opened them and saw every image with every description and analysis.

That definitely wasn't shit. Fuck, Sam looked– well, happy, in love, or maybe it was that Sam remembered and still had the feeling under his skin, vibrant as the first day he put a name to that flutter on his chest and the tingling in his extremities. Maybe that's why each of the images made sense to him, maybe that's why he couldn't refute any of the statements.

That he leans over to Bucky's body when he was next to him? That he always went with him when they finished a mission? That he tended to maintain physical contact? That he fits the straps of his uniform before they leave the complex? That he waits for him before getting on the planes? That most of his missions are with him? That they lived together? That he usually looks for him in the crowd during press conferences? That there were pictures where Sam was taking his hand? That he always sought to entwine his fingers with him? That Bucky accompanies him to visit his family in Louisiana? That they used to go out to museums or restaurants to show Bucky everything he missed? That his dreamy look at Bucky is undeniable? That he used to put his leg on Bucky's? That if Sam takes Bucky's hand, he leaves it on his lap?

Yeah, now Sam is much sadder than furious or outraged. Deeply and terribly sad.

“Hey, Torres, would you mind doing the report?” Sam asked, without needing to feign his tiredness or hide his sadness.

Joaquin stopped lowering the hostages' belongings from the plane and approached Sam with caution and a genuinely worried appearance.

“Sure, no problem, you okay?” he hurriedly asked, scanning Sam's body before returning to his face. “Need to go to the hospital? Cause I can take you, I know they can be a little frivolous here and–”

“No, I don't need to go to the hospital”, Sam cut off immediately, Joaquin nodded and waited patiently for another explanation. “Just don't feel well”, he managed to say, with a strangled voice and a weak shrug of his shoulders.

"Oh, Sam”, Joaquin whispered before throwing himself into a hug that Sam was in no way going to refuse. Sam kept him close until he was sure that no tears or gestures of sadness would suddenly escape, and Joaquin stood there, rubbing his back and muttering something resembling that everything would be fine in another language. “Está bien. Go home, I'll end up here”.

“I can still help you get all this down”.

“No, it’s okay, get out of here and rest a little bit”, he insisted. “And, hey? All will be fine”.

Sam would have replied "of course so", really, but right now he wasn't in optimistic mood, and if he had it, it’d surely feel like one more burden to everything that wasn't going well. And, okay, now maybe if he was being dramatic, but he really felt bad, sad, despondent, melancholy, nostalgic and abandoned.

And all he asked for was a little time so he could gloat over the feeling before he had to go out and smile and pretend that everything is fine. It's all he needs, everything he wants and everything he asks for. So it's not fair that the origin of his sadness is sitting on his fucking couch when Sam comes home, as if that's his house, again, as if he's never left, as if he's never left him.

“It's been a long day, Buck, this can wait?” Sam said as a greeting, by passing the room and the kitchen to get to his room. He left the shield by the door and began unbuttoning his uniform while collecting a t-shirt and shorts.

“Are you waiting for someone?” Bucky asked from the doorway. He was frowning and staring at the ground, avoiding seeing Sam’s moves, who decided to ignore the rollover in his stomach and the hole in his chest at such indifference and continued undressing, deliberately turning his back on the other man. Because, if Bucky didn't want to see him, then neither did he, he didn't even want him to look at him.

“It's past midnight, Barnes, who the fuck would I be waiting for? Santa Claus?” he buffed, hiding his sadness in an irritated, sarcastic, and annoying growl.

“I dunno, you always wait for Torres when you come back late”, he mumbled indifferently.

Then Sam finished putting on the shirt and confronted Bucky with real irritation.

“What do you want, Bucky?” Sam demanded bluntly, determined to put an end to this as soon as possible, so he could go to bed and collapse from tiredness or out-of-control emotions, whatever came first.

"I just wanted to talk”, Bucky replied with the same indifferent tone, bullshit, Bucky couldn't even hold his gaze for more than five seconds, so he was lying.

“Talk”. Sam repeated mockingly. “At 1 a.m.? Go to your house, Bucky”, and if he let go the your house with more discomfort than he planned, well, it's the fault of tiredness and not the feeling of abandonment underlying his entire being.

There was a long moment of silence, only broken by the whisper of the sheets as Sam prepared his bed to sink into the blankets, for a brief moment he believed that Bucky had really left without making the slightest noise, complying with the stealth that so characterizes him, but then a couple of boards squeaked behind Sam.

"Why don't you tell me if you're waiting for someone?” Bucky asked again, sounding closer to Sam, further away from the door and at just the right point to give him goosebumps.

So finally, emotions can more than tiredness and Sam breaks into a thousand pieces of grudge, sadness, irritation and despair.

"No. Don't. You can't do that", Sam said, angrily, turning on his feet to find his blue eyes and show him how furious he is because of him.

"What? What can't I do?”

“This!” he exclaimed. “You can't come here without asking and then demand an answer that doesn't concern you, not after you left for yourself”.

“I'm here, Sam!” Bucky replied, raising his voice to match Sam's tone. “I didn't go anywhere!”

“You left me”, he recalled, dropping the words like a bucket of cold water, like a death sentence with no right to appeal or trial.

Sam could hear his heartbeat clearly, he could feel it more than ever against his chest, as if he were trying to escape his ribs. He almost felt vibrating, ready to let go of a bunch of screams or extend his hands to push Bucky out of his house, out of his mind, out of everywhere. Sam isn't an aggressive guy, but seeing Bucky with a blank face, barely baffled by Sam's statement, gives him an immense desire to slapping him, scratching him, punching him, hurting him or whatever he can does to make him look as disturbed and sick as Sam feels.

It's not fair that Sam's world is falling apart because of him, and he doesn't even feel remorseful, minimally affected or– or as if Sam had never been part of his life.

As he discovers the analytical look in the blue eyes, Sam feels guilty and terrible for even thinking about making a small scratch to the man he swears to be in love with, for not keeping his promise and not giving him the space he asked for, for yelling at him, for losing control over his emotions and getting Bucky responsible for it.

Can you blame him? Yes, a little, but, in his defense, Sam planned to be alone with his misery until tomorrow.

"I'm sorry", he muttered, looking back and down into the space between them. Suddenly it feels like there’s very little space between them and in the whole room. Sam has to get him out of here before he's mad again because of something as ridiculous as distance. “I'm not waiting for anyone, but I'm very tired, can we talk about whatever you want tomorrow?” he offered, still without looking up because if he dares to look at him the room will become smaller than it already is.

It doesn't help, Sam has to look at him again anyway because Bucky is kept quiet for longer than Sam is willing to tolerate at this time and in these circumstances.

He encounters the same analytical look that made him feel guilty, and it actually seems that Bucky never stopped analyzing him because he walks through his face over and over again, as if recording every small gesture he makes.

"What?” Sam has to ask, because Bucky's mere presence is a lot, his gaze, this closeness and the fucking silence is already too much.

Sam will run away if Bucky doesn't say something soon, however tired he is, he will leave his own damn home and put the greatest distance between the two until Bucky acts like a normal human.

"You lied?" Bucky finally spoke. Sam acknowledges the question but can't help thinking it sounds more like a statement.

"About what?” he replied confused, resigned to following Bucky's thread instead of again suggesting talking in the morning.

"If you're not waiting for anyone and you won't get out of here, it means you lied”, Bucky explained, frowning and making vague deeds. “In the interview. You lied about having someone, about your special person”, he added, brusquely, as if he hadn't really been thinking about what he was saying up to that point, when it was already coming out of his lips and it was too late to take it back. 

Sam has to hold back from rolling his eyes, really.

"Is that what you want to talk about? From the interview?” sighed Sam, feeling the familiar tingle of irritation go up his throat. "Buck, I'm very, very tired, I promise you that tomorrow I'll go to your training session and I'll tell you everything you want to know, okay? Right now, I want and need to go to bed, rest a–”.

"I just wanna know who you're dating" Bucky interrupted, looking back at the ceiling and shrugging his shoulders, as if he hadn't asked for much, as if there wasn't a ridiculous blush going up his neck to his cheeks. “I wanna know who’s, you know, your– your person”.

There's something there, in his blush and in his gaze, that betrays how much he doesn't really want to know, but on top of that, Sam hears his voice, again with that note that unbalances the sentence and ends up breaking it, and to Sam himself. Is that despair or a demand? A claim?

Shit, Sam doesn't even want to guess because guessing means admitting he doesn't know Bucky and he needs to play cards with his tone of voice, it’d be too pathetic, wouldn't it?

Sam has recorded the question perfectly, but he’s more interested in knowing why Bucky asks and why now rather than answering. Anyway, it wasn't obvious?

Apparently not because, suddenly, the last few minutes are in a new light, in a different order and, pum! It all makes sense.

"What? You think I was talking about Joaquin?” Sam scoffed, between really funny and a little annoying, because– fuck, it's obvious! Bucky doesn't respond or look away, and if Sam hadn't spent whole hours looking at his face, perhaps he would have missed the small change in his features: the less pronounced frown and the jaw less clenched. Sam wants to laugh because this is totally absurd. “Shit, you really think I mean Joaquin? Really?”

"Did you see the articles?" he shoaled raising his eyebrows, as if it was enough to justify himself.

This time Sam can't contain his laughter.

"Which ones? Those who roll me up with people from another planet? With my sister? Or with–?”

"Sam". Bucky growled with a warning tone, but it didn't sound threatening enough to convince Sam to give up his laughter.

"I'm serious, Bucky, what are you talking about? The articles are shit, you can't have believed–”

"Some have real things", he refuted between his teeth.

"Yeah? Which ones, uh?” Sam challenged, raising an eyebrow. “Those who mention aliens shaking hands with me, the twisted ones who mention my family or the–?”

“Where you’re with me!” he exclaimed, losing the stoic and analytical semblance he had been showing. He seemed to realize what he said until he heard it from his voice, his own countenance betrayed him: surprised, but not remorseful, Bucky seemed... relieved. “In those where you are with me", he repeated with a more relaxed tone.

Sam knows what he means, those articles actually seem to be more of a story than a speculation, because they are not a lie, not from Sam's point of view, every look, smile, and touch are real. They were at that time. And Sam doesn't need any analytical articles to remember it, but this isn't about Sam, is it?

"Real things", Sam muttered to himself. "What the hell does that mean?" because they had really dated, it wasn't for long, but it was real. “What do you mean?”

He's very tired, with every minute he spends thinking and spinning the same circle his eyelids decide they'll get heavier, making each blink longer and longer. But now he's too into this shit to leave it for tomorrow or any other day.

Bucky lets out a long sigh and walks away, the distance between the two finally lets Sam breathe and gives him a chance to observe the soldier, who keeps his jaw clenched and a frowning, however, it isn’t discomfort that shines in his eyes.

"Tell me, Buck", he asked tiresomely. This guessing game won't get them anywhere if any of them don't give in, and Sam has already over-given in.

Still Bucky takes a few more minutes to decide to talk, when he does, he doesn't look at Sam, and the brunet doesn't know whether to be grateful or upset about it.

“The way you look at me in the pictures they have, that, the– the way you smile, the few photos where you have me by the hand, the videos of the conferences, when you look for me at the back of the room, and some of our... dates”, Bucky listed  slowly, letting the pauses be thorough, perhaps to avoid any alteration in his voice, Sam is not sure, but before he could ask something Bucky added:  "They– they write exactly how it felt to be there”, he laughed short, brief, humorless. “Somehow they know that your smile wasn't tense, that it wasn't the one you usually use for the press, they know you looked at me carefully and then smiled at whatever was in your mind, they know you took my hand without thinking about it, that you did it almost as a reflex–”.

"As with a child who is going to cross the street", Sam mentioned in a bitter whisper.

Bucky himself had once told him he wasn't a kid going across the street, so Sam didn't have to hold his hand. Sam should've known it wasn't Bucky's tantrum, he should've known it was Bucky walking away, asking for a space that Sam didn't know he was invading.

Something about this sad thought must have been reflected in his movements because Bucky looked up at Sam, walked his face wide open and an expression sore.

“Did you read how they explain it?" he asked, but he didn't wait for an answer to keep talking. "They say you looked like there's nothing and nobody else, that you smiled in a particular way, like that smile was just for me, that you don't even think twice before you look for me or touch me, so you trust me. And you know what? Just like that I felt, as if one of your smiles was really mine, as if you could disappear the whole place if you looked at me carefully, and I knew you trusted me more than anyone else”, he ended up shrugging his shoulders and staring at his hands before turning back to Sam.

Sam had to fist his own to not throw himself on Bucky, because he was dying to have him around and cry once again for all the lack Bucky does to him.

"So you're right", the soldier continued, taking a deep breath, as if he were preparing for one of his training. “They're not wrong, you get it?”

"No, I'm not getting where you want to go", Sam admitted.

Because this had started as a simple question and now Sam isn't sure if Bucky does this to hurt him and to get revenge for coming out and saying he still loves him, implicitly, somehow. But Sam doesn't lie when he says he can't do this anymore, he can no longer draw his heart out to Bucky and see how he rejects him, he can't see how he leaves him again.

“They– they may be right with Torres”, he lets go in a murmur. Sam blinks, slows to open his eyes because of tiredness, but when he looks at Bucky again, he hasn't moved an inch.

"You're fucking me, right?” Sam snorted, incredulous. Bucky returned a look as skeptical as his.

“I saw you, Sam, I always see you with Torres, he– to him– he got you, right? In missions, you go with him before and after, and you spend time with him, and–”, he sighed something resembling a growl, denied and snorted a laugh lacking in humor. “I saw you today, before you came here. After your mission. You were with him”.

Bucky has to be talking about his interaction in the flight area, the hug that Joaquin gave to comfort him, to try to appease the sadness of not having Bucky.

Yeah, this idiot has to be fucking him up. He can't be that stupid.

Except maybe he can.

So, Sam thinks about it for a few minutes before deciding to expose the last thing left in his heart– the one thing that neither Bucky nor anyone else will be able to take away from him: his love for him.

“I was talking about you”, he confessed finally and easily, as easy as Bucky's name and face had come to his head in the interview when they asked who knew Sam Wilson, with that same ease he felt a hole growing in his chest.

It grows and grows without consideration because Sam has already admitted it, has already spoken and now he will have to explain it, even if he knows that it’s a lost case, that talking won’t change anything and that this will cost him another few days in silence on Bucky's part, he has to do it, because last time he didn’t and because Bucky will surely not leave without an explanation.

He lets out a sigh that feels like the longest and heaviest of his whole life. Doesn’t looks at Bucky, he can't do it because he's already looking at him and his uninspiring look– with a bunch of locks in between is something Sam can't deal with. He speaks staring at the floor, with his hands on his sides, his voice stable and as calm as he can: "I know this is over, but that doesn't change how I feel about you. You know me more than anyone else and– as she said, only you are with me in the least moments... glorious. And even if you don't live here anymore, whenever I come back from a mission, I hope to see you on the road, even if it's a minute, because I feel good, because then I know I'm back and I'm home. It's you. Y’know, the person– my special person”.

Maybe he had stumbled upon a couple of syllables here and there, but Sam doesn't care much, it feels light now that he's declared a truth that was previously half-private. The feeling doesn't last long, just let him sigh with relief before the weight comes back on his shoulders and he's very aware of everything he just said and who.

Imagining the next few minutes is inevitable, Sam already has three different responses to taunts, a couple for rejection and only one for impending silence.

When Bucky says nothing and the silence begins to deafen him, Sam decides that he can't be a damn coward, not with Bucky and not after showing his heart that way again, he's the damn Captain America, by God.

Terrified but determined to face whatever is with his forehead raised, Sam looks up and finds Bucky's. He regrets only a little, because the blue look is still unreadable, distant, and blocked, and Sam isn't lying when he says he feels like a strong blow to the chest every time he encounters that blank look.

"I spend more time with Joaquin because he’s the only one who knows about you", Sam explained, keeping his voice neutral, false. “I didn't tell him, he– he found out on his own", he quickly added, "and he’s– he's good, he's good to listen. That's all. There you go. There's nothing else”, nobody, but Sam doesn't tell him that.

"I'm sorry", Bucky whispered after staring insistently at Sam's face for the thousandth time.

Sam nods, denies and nods once again. What is he supposed to say? That he's sorry too? What is there to be sorry? Sam wasn't sorry for anything, maybe just for not understanding Bucky in time.

"Would you mind closing the door?" Sam asked with short voice. Now that they had nothing more to say, or well, now that they didn't want to talk about relevant, Sam was dying to fall into his bed and sleep until noon.

He didn't really wait for an answer, he didn't think there was any. Bucky kept his gaze blank and his mouth closed, so there was nothing else to look for or wait for. He turned his back on him and separated the blankets in silence, convinced that if he let go of any word the chaos would be unleashed on his chest: all that uncontrollable flutter, the huge hole, the heartbeat, the tingling, everything.

"Sam?” Bucky spoke, hesitant and close to Sam, away from the door, far from leaving.

“Yeah?” he babbled barely audible.

“Uh... rest”.

"You too, Buck”.

Fatigue could over emotions. Or something like that.

He had heard that you never stop dreaming, only that some dreams are harder to remember and that is why there’s a feeling that nothing has been dreamed of. It doesn't usually happen to Sam, despite tiredness, bed or schedule, Sam almost always remembers his dreams. That's why he started running in the mornings, he felt better clearing his mind while noticing the details of his route instead of thinking about how Riley fell and fell without him being able to do anything. Over the years dreams change, but they rarely do it for the better.

Tonight there’s no exception, he turns on his body several times and wakes up more, because every time he closes his eyes and sleeps he hears it again, he’s there again: in front of Bucky.

"I'm sorry”, Bucky had said, his brow puckered and his eyes on Sam's phone.

"Why? I haven't ordered anything yet, we can order a pizza if the Thai place doesn't convince you or–”.

"I can't do this, Sam," he interrupted, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before speaking again. "I don't– I can't date with you anymore", it was like hearing a sentence and Sam couldn't appeal it because then Bucky had looked at him and there was nothing left.

Less than ten minutes ago Bucky had returned home and smiled at him, kissed him, and looked at him with affection, but now he was blank. Sam really searched and searched in the blue eyes, whatever it was that revealed the joke, the game. But there was nothing, not even affection.

"I'm not going to leave you, I'll still go to the missions you need me with you and all that, I just– I need my space, Sam", he continued, ignorant of all the pain that was shaking Sam, it felt almost like physical pain. It certainly hurt to breathe. "I found a place north of the city, it's not far away, I'll still be around here".

And Sam sometimes woke up before he started asking and disarming his heart piece by piece in front of Bucky, before he left; unfortunately, it isn’t a dream and it is still early morning, so Sam stays in bed and repeats the memory in his head as he tries to sleep again. "I'm so sorry, Sam, I am sorry I didn't say it before, I'm seriously sorry. But I can't stay, I need and want my own... space".

It's torture and in the end, hopefully, Sam gets to sleep three full hours before giving up and going for a run. There was no music or company, only the scenery and his own agitated breathing.

He felt like he was in a bubbling, as if he was floating over the last few days, going over silly events and others not so much. He was blank, he could imagine himself as a canvas with a wide range of colors in front of him, each being an emotion, ready to start doing something with him. And that's the scary thing. Either it ended very well, or it ended very badly.

Well, he ended up arriving very early to work and dozing off in the couch. If anyone had any problems with it, Sam would say it's been a very long week and he needs five minutes, then he would go back to sleep until lunchtime.

The sound of boxes, bags and wraps were definitely not part of his nap.

Sam was joined in with a little jolt once he became aware of his surroundings: the silent hallway, the pounding of a boot against the floor, the sun at a higher point than the last time he looked, the fucked-up sheathing sounds and Bucky in front of him, in the chair that was still Sam's.

"The sandwiches on the machine are disgusting, did you know?" he commented as a greeting, stopping hitting the floor with his boots and leaning over the desk. "And since you didn't go out for anything to eat, I decided to bring it to you. Do you like spaghetti? I hope so, because there were only those.

He has to be dreaming.

"What are you doing here?” Sam managed to ask in a hoarse voice.

Bucky rolled his eyes and bite a muffin with strange seeds.

"It's lunchtime", he replied obviously. “After yesterday's rescue, almost everyone is free. It really was a difficult mission, wasn't it? That's what I heard while they were out for lunch, but since you were–”.

"Asleep, yes, I know, you said it", he snorted. He snouted and carved his eyes slowly, with every intention of avoiding Bucky's mocking smile and that strange glow in his eyes.

It's always too early to deal with Bucky.

"C’mon, Wilson, this is getting cold, and I won't go to heat it up", he warned, bringing the box of takeaway food to Sam.

He didn’t fight, respond, or thank, he took the box, the fork and ate, staring at the spaghetti, as tangled as his own thoughts. He ate a couple of bites before looking at Bucky, who was already looking at him, still looked funny, but Sam found caution on the edge of his gaze, in his stance.

Then he froze.

Because he could see it. Why could he see it?

"What are you doing?” Sam asked abruptly.

And you have to understand, Sam has been seeing no emotions in Bucky's eyes for a couple of weeks now, none that he was already used to, none that he could understand, none that Bucky showed him, but now there they are, bright, floating and on the edge, right on the surface. Sam already had a long night, a long week, he doesn't need this.

Bucky speaks until he finishes his rare muffin, despite eye contact and apparent confidence in himself, he remains cautious.

"I talked to Torres", he began, releasing the event as a defeat. "He's a good friend, he refused to tell me anything about you. No, don't look at me like that, I just wanted to know how much I've screwed it up, if I deserved to come with you and– I dunno, explain?”

"Did you go to see Joaquin after talking to me?” Sam asked indignantly.

"No! That was this morning”, he responded quickly, between offended and irritated. “I wanted to come with you first, but that kid is... good. He questioned me and everything, seriously, he asked if–”.

"Bucky”.

"He wanted to know if you were sad because of me and I wanted to know if I could get you back", he explained quickly, blinking towards his hands and shrugging his shoulders. “But it's true, he didn't tell me anything, so here I am”.

Sam needs more than a here I am to refrain from throwing his food in his face and going home.

Bucky knows it.

"Listen– I was wrong. And I lied to you", Bucky sighed. “That time, when I told you I wanted my space, that– it was a lie. I was actually scared. I– they had been asking me questions about you, some agents and journalists, you know, those people. They wanted to know if you were dating someone and if it was me, and I didn't know what to answer, I didn't know if you– I didn't know if I wanted them to know. That's why I asked you not to hold my hand.  And it worked, they stopped asking. For a while”.

Every pause Bucky makes squeezes Sam's heart, drains him of thoughts and drowns him with memories.

“Then they did it again and– this time they seemed to know, they seemed to have an opinion about it and, Sam, I didn't– I know that you didn't think it was bad for you, I tried hard to believe it, I still do", he added. “But it was difficult to do so when others began to realize it, when it was more than evident that I could not do it. Listen to me, I can deal with the stories of the Winter Soldier, insecurity, attacks and fear, I can. You don't have to, you don't– I wouldn't do that to you for–”.

"Did you leave me because of what people would said?” murmured Sam, genuinely confused by Bucky's verbiage.  

"I broke up with you because you already have enough trouble for yourself”, he corrected. “All those gossips, the shield, the missions the press manages to get to know, the damn aliens, everything, Sam. It didn't want to be a problem for you”.

"Did you think it would be chaos if I said I was dating you?" Sam snorted mockingly. "C’mon, Barnes, you're not so important”.

"I wasn't talking about me, Wilson", he growled. Bucky took a deep breath a couple of times and straightened out his stance. “They're not gonna see me, they're just gonna see the Soldier”.

Sam has had his head blank since Bucky began explaining, he hasn't really thought of an answer, he's not even sure he's already processed the whole mess; but right now, with blue eyes on him, remorseful, angry, and expectant, Sam can finally think of a couple of things to say.

"You're an idiot", he declared. Because it's the first thing he came up with and Bucky clearly needs the reminder. “And then what? What do you think would have happened, uh? If months ago I had said I was with you, what? The press would continue to speak just as it does now, speculating, asking, inquiring and–”.

"It's not the same, Sam, this is–”.

"I wouldn't have stopped loving you", he interrupted, leaving the box of spaghetti on the desk.

He stretched out his arms and stood up, walked towards Bucky, until his body was between Bucky's knees and the edge of the desk. He didn't stop looking at him for a second.

"I give a fuck what the press, the agents or the president thinks of me or who I’m dating, Bucky. I given a fuck when I dated you, I given a fuck in last week's interview, and right now I still give a fuck”, he recited, slowly and carefully, only to annoy Bucky, who said nothing, kept his eyes carefully on Sam's face, stiff and stoic from head to toe. Sam didn't move either, he unlighted Bucky for a few more seconds before bowing down and asking: "Why did you change your mind?”

A cynical smile spread across Bucky's lips as he shrugged his shoulders.

"I'd rather they talk about me than about Joaquin", he replied simply.

"Asshole", Murmured Sam. He said it with no real intention of offending, without the kind of heat one uses to fight, no, he said it with the kind of heat you have when you're about to go through someone's personal space.

Bucky stops looking into his eyes to get down for his face and stop at his lips. Then he replied, short and hoarse: "Because I no longer wanna miss you, I wanna make you happy. Because I also don't care what they say, no longer, not if I'm your person”.

Sam hopes that his kiss will confirm yes, you are my person, because he couldn’t wait to answer him to kiss him.

Both are morons because, apparently, they missed each other more than they will ever be willing to admit.

There are lips, tongues, bites and hands, they’re a mess. Sam doesn't know if he's still leaning over Bucky or if Bucky stood up and plans to put him on the desk, he has no idea of anything, he's not thinking about anything, just Bucky on his lips, on his t-shirt, with one leg between his own, with the metal hand on his back and then walks away. 

"I want to compensate you, Sam", he babbled on his lips, barely separated by a few millimeters. “For being an idiot, for making you sad, for walking away, for wasting time–” and kisses him between each reason, getting longer and harder and hotter and dangerously close to Sam to forgetting all those reasons.

"We have to get out of here", ordered Sam, thinking enough to take his phone and throw the food into the bag where Bucky had brought it.

If they had passed in front of a mirror, they would’ve seen the disaster they were sporting, but they didn't. They left the offices of the middle complex deserted and without explaining to anyone, with fingers intertwined and looks brighter than ever. Just ready to go home together. 

And if there were more articles tomorrow, none would have to explain, because finally they are both at home.