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“The world loves me.” Bucky says proudly as he shoves his phone in Sam’s face.
Sam isn’t sure why he humors these fuckers anymore, but he takes the phone to look at whatever Bucky’s showing him. It’s an instagram post, by one assetformerlyknownas and it has a seriously mind blowing amount of likes and comments. The post in question is just Barnes, his hair a ratty ass mess glaring at a banana like it’s deeply betrayed him, captioned “Disappointed in you, America.”
“You’re a dick, ya know?” Sam asks.
“He’s got a great one though.” Steve says because the whole America’s Golden Boy image is a huge lie. Bucky looks smug as he gives Steve a high five.
——
Bucky has knitting needles in his hands when Sam bursts into their living room. Steve is tucked up into Bucky’s side, one leg curved up and over one of Bucky’s thighs and his own needles clacking away.
Sam’s face, as it goes through an array of expressions is priceless. Bucky can just tell he wants to mock Bucky for all he’s worth, but Sam’s spent too much time telling Steve he needs coping mechanisms and hobbies that don’t involve punching people to do that and ruin something he insists Steve needs.
Bucky privately agrees, but he also knows there’s much better ways of making that happen than outright telling Steve that. You have to lure Steve into it, imply he can’t do something and he’ll go right ahead and do it just to prove you wrong. Bucky learned this at the tender age of 8 and has been exploiting it shamelessly ever since. He’s surprised and a little disappointed in the Avengers that they haven’t figured it out.
“You knit.” Sam says flatly, finally.
“Yep.”
“Knit your bit.” Steve says, like someone who’s said it a million times by rote.
“Stevie here knit about a million pairs of socks with his USO girls.” Bucky says and waves the bright pink hat he’s working on at Sam.
“Ohhh, I get it. This is one of those things you assholes do where you try to convince us all of something and laugh behind our backs afterwards.” Sam says, pointing an accusing finger at Bucky.
“Why am I the one you assholes get mad at for fucking with you? Steve does it just as much and you all fall for his cornflower wholesome no siree I’d never act.” Bucky says and shoves Steve’s shoulder when Steve “accidentally” elbows him in the ribs. “Google knitting during the world wars, it was a real thing.” He adds.
He’s proud of Sam for the fact that he actually whips out his phone to check, though he’ll never in a million years admit to it. People in this day are way too willing to believe anything Steve and Bucky say about the past, which granted, leads to some entertaining times but in Bucky’s opinion is also a sad sign of how naive the world is.
“Well shit, it really was a thing.” Sam mutters after a couple minutes spent looking at his phone.
“Told you.” Bucky thrusts a finger in Sam’s direction, hoping Wilson feels the judgement in the gesture.
Steve doesn’t let Sam and Bucky degenerate into an argument, a very likely outcome if they’re allowed to continue. Instead, he thrusts a soft blue skien of yarn and a pair of knitting needles in Sam’s direction. “C’mon, we’re gonna teach you to knit.”
Sam, to Bucky’s surprise, doesn’t even protest. He just settles on the other side of Steve and lets the super soldier run him through the basics.
Thus, begins the Monday morning tradition of the Superhero Knitting Club. Bucky’s only half surprised when it grows to include Bruce, Wanda, and Clint because Lord knows that Bruce and Wanda could use the therapeutic aspect. He refuses to question why Barton wants to spend an hour and a half on Monday mornings knitting, though he generally refuses to question anything that man does.
——
Bucky spent seventy years having his brain shoved through a blender until he forgot what it felt like to want something, so he’s pretty sure he’s justified in refusing to deny himself anything he wants these days. At least as long as it doesn’t hurt himself or others. He feels like the general population should be accepting of that. Especially since he wavers between refusing to deny himself and feeling like he shouldn’t ever have nice things on a pretty day to day basis.
The Avengers don’t always seem to agree, especially when Bucky straddles Steve’s lap and proceeds to engage the other man in an absolutely filthy kiss during Saturday Team Movie Night. By the end of the kiss Steve is flushed all the way under his collar just the way Bucky likes and his hands are firmly cupping Bucky’s ass.
Bucky bites Steve’s throat to show his approval. Steve groans. Tony throws a Twizzler at them.
“I should not have senior citizens getting to second base in my media room.” Tony complains.
“No bases have even been reached.” Bucky says even as one of his hands is slipping between him and Steve to unbutton Steve’s jeans.
Steve bites his lip and Bucky knows Steve, so he’s pretty sure he’s right to think that Steve’s torn between that weird thing he’s done since he got Bucky back where he barely ever says no to Bucky and telling Bucky to stop while their friends are right there. (The Avengers being their friends is still something Bucky’s getting used to to be honest.) Not that Steve ever argues against public displays of affection, he just has this weird insistence that there’s a difference between PDA and public sex. Steve is, unfortunately for Bucky in this moment where he wants to get his hand down Steve’s pants, not into exhibitionism.
Bucky might be all about doing what he wants within reason on a lot of days, but he’s also 110% against other people doing something they don’t want so he stops his quest to get his hand into Steve’s pants and instead just curls it comfortably in the hem of Steve’s shirt.
“Oh thank god, I’m not about to be subjected to geriatric porn.” Tony says, overdramatic as always. Sometimes Bucky regrets not killing him when he had the chance and was still somewhat gone enough to do so without all of the terrible guilt nonsense. It’d have surely come back to bite him in the ass, but his life might be a lot quieter.
“You weren’t going to be subjected to any sort of porn, idiot.” Bucky says as he slides out of Steve’s lap and into the spot beside him on the truly ridiculously huge couch that Stark probably paid more for than Bucky really wants to imagine.
“Okay, enough of the drama queen act,” Natasha says as she drops into the spot next to Bucky and proceeds to make herself comfortable with her legs draped across both Steve and Bucky’s laps, “We need to decide which classic we’re showing the fossils tonight.”
‘Classics’ Bucky has learned has a very loose definition, considering in the months that they’ve been having movie nights he’s seen everything from animated children’s movies to ridiculous horror movies to the one about the cowboys that made Steve pretend he had suddenly developed allergies. Bucky had kissed his neck to distract him and then refused to stop saying “I can’t quit you” for the next two days.
“Something cute.” Is Wanda’s vote from her spot curled up under a blanket in one of the large, comfortable chairs.
Steve nods in agreement with Wanda, because Steve is ridiculously fond of the kid.
“Something cute it is. Wilson, find us a movie.” Nat says, and Sam doesn’t even question the order, scrolling through the movie queue. He’s the only one trusted to handle the remote anymore.
“This is my tower, I should have some input here.” Tony protests and is ignored.
——
Steve still goes to Mass on Sundays when he’s not saving the world or stuck in the hospital. Bucky accepts that fact, and accepts it when Steve crawls out of bed at the crack of dawn on Sunday mornings but he’s also pretty vehement in the fact that there’s no way Steve is getting him out of bed for fuckin’ Mass. Bucky’s pretty sure he’s excused from participating in religious activities on account of the whole getting tortured for seventy odd years thing.
Steve wakes Bucky up to kiss him goodbye because he’s a giant sap and Bucky can’t even tease him about it because he ends up tugging the other man closer and kissing him breathless in the hope that Steve will decide God really isn’t worth the fuss.
Steve breaks away because he’s a spoil sport and Bucky twists his fingers into the front of Steve’s nice shirt to keep him from going too far just yet.
“Go have fun with your Catholic guilt instead of spending the day in bed with me.” Bucky says after a moment, slowly releasing his hold on Steve’s shirt.
“Have fun with your heathen ways and your brunch.” Steve says and presses a kiss to the very tip of Bucky’s nose. “Tell Nat I say hi.”
“We’re gonna eat weird Russian food and plot the downfall of capitalism.” Bucky says as seriously as possible. In actuality they’re going to drink at least 4 pitchers of mimosas, stuff themselves full of fancy breakfast foods and then wander around the city until Natasha is bored of buying things and making Bucky cary them. Pretending they have a Former Russian Assassins Club is just more fun for the both of them than telling the truth.
Steve nods like this sounds perfectly reasonable and straightens up. “Sounds fun, just don’t come back smelling like borscht.”
“Borscht is delicious.”
“It’s worse than your Ma’s cooking.” Steve says and ducks out the door when Bucky throws a pillow at him.
——
Bucky doesn’t know why he goes into the animal shelter. He’s never been able to resist cute animals, or even not-so cute ones that bite a lot. He blames that on how he’s ended up with Steve, honestly. The guy’s like a particularly stubborn terrier when he gets going. It’s a Wednesday though, and Wednesday means therapy, and Bucky can’t lie to himself that he’s not doing so great after his session. So when he sees the sign for the shelter on his trek back home he makes a beeline across the street towards it, foregoing the crosswalks ahead and glaring at the honking cars like they’re the ones being inconvenient.
Bucky ends up back with the dogs. There’s a bunch of glass rooms, each one containing anywhere from a single dog to three dogs and Bucky wanders between them for what feels like hours until he ends up settled cross legged in the center of one. It’s one of the rooms that only contains one dog, a giant black and brown one who the paper stuck to the glass door of the room says is a Rottweiler mix named “Missy.” Bucky had read the blurb about her, a simple paragraph that let the world know she was a shy dog due to her previous owner’s mistreatment but sweet as pie and wouldn’t you just love to give her a new forever home? Bucky hadn’t been able to resist the urge to enter the room, so now he sits, still and quiet, his posture relaxed with his hands settled on his knees, palms up as he watches the dog.
He’s been there for a solid 15 minutes when the dog moves closer. Bucky watches, feeling himself relax even more, the tension of a rough therapy session starting to fade. A few more minutes later the dog has finished it’s slow progressive move towards Bucky and it flops itself down onto it’s stomach in front of him, paws stretched out towards him and head settled on it’s legs. Bucky, with all the slowness that was ever beat into him with Hydra or the Red Room, reaches a hand, the flesh and bone one, out towards her. After the dog has a chance to smell his hand and deem it suitably not a threat, he lets the hand settle against one of her soft ears and strokes gently.
Less than an hour later he leaves with Missy on a leash in one hand, a list of supplies she’ll need that the girl at the shelter had given him in the other. He fully intends to put all of the supplies on Stark’s credit card and not tell him about it. It’s not like the billionaire will notice a couple hundred dollars for dog supplies gone missing.
——
It takes Tony weeks to realize that Steve and Bucky have acquired a dog, despite the fact that she follows them around the tower pretty much constantly and is pretty substantial in size.
“No animals in the tower.” Tony says, thrusting a finger at Bucky who snorts. Clint brings Lucky all the time and Tony allows it.
“We couldn’t have animals Before.” Steve says, eyes wide and innocent as he settles his chin between Missy’s shoulders, his arms wrapped around her giant fluffy body where she’s seated up on the couch next to him. Bucky knows the game Steve is playing, and he’s more than willing to play along.
“Yeah, Stevie here had horrible allergies.” Bucky contributes, patting at Steve’s shoulder in a faux consoling gesture. “Couldn’t get near someone who’d been around a fuzzy animal, let alone the animal itself. Plus Hydra definitely never let me have a pet.” He widens his eyes and looks sad for dramatic effect.
Tony narrows his eyes, flails his hands for a moment and then huffs. “Fine. Residents of the Tower are allowed pets. I should make you geriatrics put down a deposit in case Lassie destroys anything.”
“Missy’s a good dog, she wouldn’t destroy anything.” Steve defends, which isn’t strictly true. Bucky’s had to replace his boots several times already since Missy seems set upon eating the left ones. He’s not sure why she only goes for the left shoe, but he’s accepted that he’ll probably never know.
"Yeah, yeah, enjoy your mutt Rogers.”
——
Bucky is a fucking connoisseur of hand jokes okay? The first time he’d made one he’d thought Steve was going to cry though. His eyes had gone all sad and big like he was wounded for a good minute before he seemed to process it and probably determined that it’s a coping mechanism or something. After that he even actively contributes. Bucky will say he needs a hand and Steve will respond ‘yeah, your left one’ and Sam will shake his head at them. It’s a great system.
As much as he loves Steve and the fact that Steve goes along with his dumb jokes though, Natasha is the one who handles them the best.
He thinks maybe it’s because they’ve both been through a similar sort of hell, their paths through hell have overlapped, and they have the same sort of humor when it comes to all of it.
“I’m gonna be 100 soon. Well, most of me is. I’ve got some newer parts.” He says once while Natasha is dragging him through expensive shops and she barks out a laugh.
“You think that’s bad? I don’t even know how old I am. Makes celebrating birthdays a bitch.” Natasha says from inside a dressing room, tone light and easy like it’s a joke. Bucky knows there’s truth there though, barbed wire and humor covering a wound that still aches if anyone ever presses on it too hard. Bucky will never press, the same as he knows Natasha wouldn’t with his. It’s a reassuring thing to know.
“That just means you get to make one up. Doesn’t every woman lie about how old they are anyway, Natashenka?”
“Careful, you don’t want Steve to hear you saying something like that. He’ll get defensive on the account of woman everywhere.” Natasha teases and pushes aside the dressing room curtain. She twirls for Bucky, showing off the short, pale pink dress. It flares out when she spins and for some reason Bucky can’t help but picture her en pointe with her vibrant hair confined to a tight bun.
The thought makes him shake his head quickly and wave a hand dismissively. “Nah, not that one. I liked the yellow one better.”
Natasha frowns and studies herself in the mirror, running a hand along the soft fabric of the dress before she nods once. “Agreed.” She says as she heads back into the dressing room, curtain swishing closed behind her. “Besides, isn’t there some thing about how red heads shouldn’t wear pink?”
Bucky rolls his eyes theatrically even though Natasha can’t see. He’s sure she can feel it. “You greatly overestimate my knowledge of these kinds of things.”
“You mean neither Hydra nor the KGB implanted a knowledge of fashion in your head?”
“Nope, can’t say they did.” Bucky lets Nat pile a truly huge amount of clothing into his arms when she exits the dressing room, accepting that he’s going to be her pack mule with ease.
“Shame, they really should have.” She says, eyeing him up and down pointedly. He’s seen her in Sam’s sweat pants and a shirt older than Wanda, so he’s pretty sure she has no room to judge Bucky in his hoodie and jeans. Besides, he’s been told his bun and the glasses that work surprisingly well as a disguise when out and about are fashionable these days.
“Hey, my fashion sense is fine. I look like a normal person.” Bucky insists, scowling at Natasha.
“Keep telling yourself that.” Natasha smirks, the asshole, and turns to go pay. Bucky, despite himself, follows.
——
The cat finds them. Or rather, the cat finds Steve. Bucky doesn’t meet her until Steve’s coming home with a bundle of scraggly black fur wrapped up in his jacket and a look on his face that Bucky knows means they’re keeping the thing.
“Some kids were messin’ with her.” Steve says, a hard look in his eye as he sets the cat down on their kitchen floor and then flits around the kitchen, filling a bowel with water and opening up a can of tuna.
“You didn’t try and fight some kids, did you?” Bucky asks, just a little bit cautious. He’s about 90% positive Steve wouldn’t fight kids, but there’s that other 10% that knows how Steve gets if he sees injustice. People torturing a cat is definitely enough to count as injustice to Steve, even if those people are kids.
“Christ, no, of course not.” Steve sets the water and tuna down onto the floor and the cat slinks over to devour it, growls steadily coming from it until Steve steps a good four feet away. “I wouldn’t fight kids. I just, uh, scared them a little maybe.”
“Oh god, what’d you do Rogers?”
“Nothin! I swear. Just a little bit of lecturing. I felt like my Ma, honestly.” Steve insists and Bucky rolls his eyes.
“Of course you did. You definitely got your temperament from that woman. She was all fire and stubbornness, god rest her soul. Sometimes I still feel a phantom pain in my ear where she’d twist it when we were being particularly awful.” Bucky shudders at the memory of Sarah Rogers in all her glory, on multiple occasions leading both Steve and Bucky back home by the ears after they’d gotten into another fight. God rest that woman’s soul, she put up with a lot from them.
“I’m not nearly as stubborn as my Ma was.” Steve says and doesn’t seem to think anything of seating himself on the floor a few feet from the cat.
Bucky stares at him for a solid thirty seconds because that’s rich, Steve not being as stubborn as his Ma. Steve’s the most stubborn person Bucky’s ever met in his life. “Well that’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard.” Bucky says and folds himself down next to Steve, watching the cat with him.
“It is not.” Steve insists, his jaw already starting to jut slightly and Bucky wants to kiss it.
“Is too, and I’ve heard a lot of lies in my time Stevie.” Bucky gives into his urges and presses a quick kiss to Steve’s jaw before he looks back to the cat. “What’re we gonna name it?” He asks, and it’s as good as telling Steve they’re keeping it, makes Steve relax from holding himself stiff.
“I dunno. She’s a pretty lil thing though, deserves a nice name.”
Bucky squints at the cat, trying to see what Steve sees because as far as he can tell this cat is ugly. Or at least as ugly as cats can get, which to be fair is still pretty cute. She’s skin and bones, ribs showing, and her fur is long and matted. When she looks up from her food her face is flat. He thinks she might look a little better after they’ve fed her for awhile and given her a bath, but he’s not sure yet.
“We’ll figure one out.” Bucky says, lifting his flesh hand cautiously when the cat approaches and plops herself down right next to his knee. He scratches behind her ear, going slow to not spook her and is rewarded with a low, rumbling purr as the cat leans into it.
Steve and Bucky never actually figure out a name for the cat, but Nat starts calling it StellaCat for some reason that nobody is willing to ask about and it sticks.
——
Bucky’s therapist is really big on Bucky treating himself with kindness. Bucky still doesn’t always understand it, still occasionally feels like he’s got atoning to do but another one of the things his therapist is big on is him realizing that he doesn’t have responsibility for anything he did while brainwashed. Bucky might have been the weapon, but there was someone else behind the trigger. Some days he’s good at remembering that, others not so much.
She also likes giving him homework. Today he leaves her office with a list of suggestions on how to “spoil himself.” He’s supposed to pick a couple, or come up with some on his own, and do them before his next session. He expects that he’ll have to talk about them and his feelings, which he’s not looking forward to, but he is maybe looking forward to the spoiling himself bit.
He’s always a little shaky after therapy so he chooses the most relaxing item on the list to do first.
Bucky digs through their overstocked curtesy of Pepper Potts bathroom until he finds a large jug of bubble bath. He dumps half the bottle in after fiddling with the multitude of knobs in the monstrosity of a bathtub to get water to come out. He’s about 98% sure the thing hasn’t ever been used by either himself or Steve.
Once the tub is filled he strips down and climbs in, sinking down until the water laps just under his nose. He lets his eyes slip shut and he might not be sure how taking a bubble bath is supposed to help him on the quest to becoming a Real Life Human™ but it does feel nice, so he lets himself relax and just float.
The next time he opens his eyes it’s to the sight of Steve, standing in the bathroom doorway and watching with an expression that’s all at once curious and fond.
“Therapy homework.” Bucky explains, shifting up a little in the tub to talk to Steve without the risk of soapy water sloshing into his mouth. “I’m supposed to spoil myself.”
“Have I mentioned how much I like your therapist?”
“Many, many times. Careful with that or I’ll get jealous and worry you’re about to try chasing dames. It’ll be like Carter all over again.” Bucky says with a grin because he knows joking about that will rile Steve up.
True to form, Steve scowls and crosses his arms over his chest, the very picture of Captain America Is Very Disappointed In You. “Ha, ha, very funny. You’re a real comedian Buck.”
“You know I am. C’mon, join me in this thing, it’s probably bigger than our kitchen was.” Which isn’t saying too terribly much considering the place they’d lived in before the war had been tiny. “You can wash my hair, I bet that’d really be considered spoiling myself.”
Steve apparently doesn’t need to be coaxed into it because he strips down without hesitation and slides into the spot behind Bucky when Bucky scoots forward. His legs bracket Bucky on either side, and when Bucky leans back against his chest his arms wrap around Bucky’s waist. Bucky decides the bath is even better than it was before once Steve is in it.
“Y’know I wouldn’t, right?” Steve asks out of nowhere and Bucky can only make a questioning noise in reply because he has no idea what Steve’s on about. He’s too comfortable to connect it, too relaxed floating in the water with Steve. “Try and chase dames. Hell, I only tried with Peg because you kept telling me too.”
Bucky knows that what Steve is saying is the God’s honest truth, knows it in his bones and even knew it back then. Oh, he knows Steve had feelings for Peggy, anyone with two eyes in their head that could see farther than their nose could see that, but Steve wouldn’t have even thought of acting on it if Bucky hadn’t always been trying to get Steve to find some girl to settle down with.
That’d always been the plan, Steve finally finding someone who saw him the way Bucky had since they were kids and settling down with the whole wife and kids deal. Bucky doesn’t think he’d have found himself anyone, Steve’s always been it for him but he would have been the weird uncle who hung around too much. Maybe Peg would have even been accepting of the fact that he was in love with her best guy. Bucky had seen the way Peg had looked at the USO girls, it might have even been mutually beneficial for all of them.
He thinks sometimes that there may be a small part of him that’s glad they got to wake up in the future where they don’t have to hide that part of themselves.
“I know Stevie. I was only joking, promise.” Bucky says, does his best to reassure Steve that he’s not worried and squeezes at Steve’s hands where they rest over Bucky’s stomach. “I know I’m the only asshole that can keep up with you.”
“I have to keep you around, no one else in this century will eat my food.” Steve jokes, disentangling his hands from Bucky’s so that he can pour out some shampoo and lather it into Bucky’s hair.
“That’s because it’s awful Steve. You can’t cook for shit.” Bucky says, tone going lazy as he goes boneless under Steve’s hands in his hair.
“It’s not that bad.”
“Just accept it Steve, you can’t be amazing at everything. Everyone’s gotta have a weakness, yours is a total inability to cook. I just have low enough standards and love you enough to eat whatever you make.” Bucky says and hears Steve huff behind him as he digs his fingers into Bucky’s scalp. Bucky thinks he’d be purring like StellaCat if he could right then.
“I truly feel loved.” Steve deadpans.
————
“Do you ever miss me being smaller?” Steve asks one night, his head tucked up under Bucky’s chin and his expression shielded from view. His hands are tangled in the front of Bucky’s t-shirt and Bucky doesn’t need to see his face to know it’s twisted into a frown, eyes dark the way they get when Steve’s been woken by his own nightmares.
“It’s been 70 years since you were small Rogers.” Bucky tries for levity, because sometimes that helps. Sometimes it smooths the rough edges of Steve’s anxiety.
Tonight though, it only results in Steve’s hands clenching near convulsively and his nose smashing further into the softness of Bucky’s throat.
“I did at first. After you pulled my sorry ass off that table. I wished you’d stayed small and safe at home, was convinced you’d get yourself killed trying to fight a war. I was right of course. If your ass wasn’t pumped full of serum you’d have ended up dead in the Atlantic.” It’s easier to say these things in their dark bedroom when Steve can’t see his face. There’s something about being safe, with Steve wrapped up in his arms, Missy sprawled across both of their legs and StellaCat pressed right up against the small of Bucky’s back that makes him feel safe enough to say these things out loud.
“I don’t now though. You’re still Steve. A little banged up around the edges, sure, but fuck, so am I.” Bucky, when he’s feeling particularly introspective and romantic likes to think they both got the shitty end of the stick so many times so that they’d match. Two pieces of the same puzzle, fitting together somehow every time someone decided to shove them through a shredder. “Besides, you could end up like that asshole Wade and I’d still wanna fuck the hell out of you.”
This time the try for levity works and Steve snorts out a laugh. It’s small, but his shoulders relax minutely and his beak of a nose eases up on Bucky’s throat so he counts it as a win.
“Such a romantic.” Steve mutters, the tone not quite right, not yet, but getting there.
“I am. I could romance the shit out of you if I wanted to.”
“Yeah, I’d like to see you try.” Steve’s tone is all challenge and disbelief, and ah, there’s Bucky’s Steve, his Stevie. Bucky’s best guy has always been spit and vinegar, stubbornness and sarcasm and a challenge at every step of the way.
Bucky can’t resist the challenge, never has been able to, especially not when he thinks Steve might just get something out of it. He slips a hand up under Steve’s chin, tilting it back so that Steve’s looking at him.
“Big or small, you’re still Steve. I loved you when we were kids and you had more guts than sense. I loved you when we were teenagers and everyone but you seemed to believe you’d die on us any minute. I loved you in the war, even if it meant you’d been an idiot who let himself get experimented on like a fuckin lab rat. And I loved you after they ran my brain through a blender and I couldn’t even remember my own name. Loving you has been one of the only constants in my life Steve.”
Steve’s looking at him with wide eyes and before he can open his mouth to say anything Bucky dips his head to kiss him.
“How’s that for romance Rogers?” He asks against Steve’s lips and Steve shoves at him, eyes bright and no longer clouded with self doubt and nightmares.
It’s not perfect, nothing ever is, and Bucky’s sure they’ll never stop having nightmares or doubting themselves. But this, this right here? Him and Steve, together, is all he’s ever needed.