Chapter Text
“Let me talk to him tonight,” Peggy says in the car the next morning. “It might help him to talk to someone who’s also had to deal with this from the other side.”
So Steve sequesters himself upstairs that night after leaving them with a kiss on the forehead each. He’s got the radio and a sketchbook to keep him company, as well as a couple of cookies that Bucky made with Josephine that day. He pulls from his memories, drawing Bucky from that day at the beach with pastels, blue sky and murky ocean behind him. He sketches Peggy the night he asked her to marry him, emerald green skirt spiraled around her mid-twirl, her cheeks flushed and her smile bright.
It’s late when he finishes, his eyes tired from strain and lack of sleep from the night before. But when he leaves the room to get ready for bed, the house is quiet, so he decided to go downstairs to check on them.
He finds Peggy and Bucky asleep on the couch, Peggy sprawled on top of him, her head on his chest. Bucky’s metal arm is holding her, and his right arm is dangling to the side. There are crumpled handkerchiefs on the coffee table and two half-finished cups of tea. Warmth spreads through his chest at the sight of them, and even though he’s beyond exhausted at that point, he quietly grabs a chair from the dining room, and sits down for a final sketch. He pencils their intertwined legs, her loose hair, Bucky’s soft, open mouth. He highlights the glow of the side lamp reflecting off of Bucky’s arm and the way Peggy’s lashes fan against her cheek. When he finishes, he grabs the blanket from the armchair and drapes it over them before turning off the light. He ignores the desire to touch either of them, not wanting to disturb Bucky’s sleep after such a rough night, and heads back upstairs to finally sleep himself.
*
* *
They both wake him up the next morning with kisses and touches in the soft morning sun.
“Hey,” Steve says against Bucky’s lips when he’s awake enough to put more than two words together. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” he says and then kisses him again. “Yeah. Marge set me straight.”
“Is that the right word to use?” Peggy asks with a grin.
“Hush,” Bucky responds softly and then kisses her, too.
*
* *
“He wants to see the other Steve,” Peggy whispers while Bucky’s in the shower.
“Really?” Steve asks, brows creased in concerned.
“Yes. I understand it. I think about him sometimes, too.”
Steve… doesn’t. Oddly enough. Steve is him and he is Steve and it hurts his head trying to think about what all of that implies. “What did you tell him?”
“I said that he and I could make a trip after HYDRA is defeated. If he somehow, God forbid, got back in the hands of Dr. Zola, him knowing the location of an extra super soldier would be less than desirable. Even knowing what he knows now may be dangerous.”
He sighs. “I had to tell him.”
“I know, my love.”
*
* *
“I panicked a bit,” Bucky says. It’s the afternoon now, and they’re sitting on the back porch with hot cider and sandwiches. “Even ignoring the crazy time travel shit, it was hard to wrap my mind around you being here at the same time as—as the other version of you.” He takes a bite of his sandwich.
“Yeah,” Steve says softly.
Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t know, I kept thinking about Steve — the other Steve — under ice somewhere, and that—” he hesitates, nervous to continue, “— that you’d taken his place. Living his life.”
Peggy place her hand over Bucky’s but looks at Steve. “I had those feelings at first too,” she says. Steve whips his head around to look at her because she never said anything. “I know. I didn’t act like it. I was so happy to have you here, and you were dealing with so much. I didn’t want to add to your burden. I had to remind myself that you’re not a… science fiction clone. You’re the same person; you’ve already lived what he’s lived.”
“And Peggy told me some of the things you did and the stuff you went through. And I know—I know— that I would’ve told you the same thing, to go back and worry about your own happiness for once. It’s easier to accept two versions of the same Steve knowing that that Bucky would’ve made the same decision as me.” He gives a weak smile. “I also know you wouldn’t’ve gone back unless you had a selfless reason for doing it ‘cause that’s just how you’ve always been. It’s fuckin’ annoying sometimes, but it’s you.”
Steve’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”
“Peggy told me that you didn’t change your future by coming here. She called it an alternate timeline. So hey, you rescuing me here ain’t doing jackshit for Bucky Barnes over there. But he knew that you wouldn’t come here just for your own happiness. Coming back to get your girl wouldn’t be enough. But asking you to rescue me, well. You weren’t going to say no to a reality where you could save me from HYDRA.”
Steve tightens his jaw, thinking back to his conversation with the other Bucky after Tony’s funeral. Steve had been waffling, thinking about backing out, until Bucky convinced him that he could make a difference to another Bucky if he went back.
“I see you getting a little upset over there,” Peggy says.
“I’m just thinking about the jerk I call my best pal.” He eyes Bucky. “Both of them.”
“It’s not either Bucky’s fault that they know you so well. You’re here now and you have me,” she puts her feet in his lap, “and you have him,” she squeezes Bucky’s hand, “and bringing down HYDRA is going to change the world."
*
* *
Thompson returns from France the following week.
“Well?” Peggy asks. She and Steve are sitting across from him in a briefing room.
He hands her his report before speaking. “The weapons are all accounted for, though he did ask several questions about where they’d be stored. Said he was worried about the proper storage of the energy source. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s some sort of break-in soon wherever they’ll be kept.”
“We’ve got that taken care of, but thank you for the warning. What else?”
He smiles wolfishly. “I made a couple of comments in passing, stuff that’s right up HYDRA’s alley. People not knowing what’s good for them, that sort of thing. He asked if I wanted to grab a beer next week. We’ll see if he’s already ready to try to recruit or if he needs a little more coaxing. Either way…”
“Either way, you’ve made progress already,” Peggy says hopefully.
*
* *
November continues as a meandering, winding path, and the Three Musketeers (as Bucky likes to call them) acclimate to this new thing between them. They buy a new bed, the biggest they can, and give their old one to a family that Josephine knows. They finally fall into a training routine, Bucky teaching both of them HYDRA fighting tactics and maneuvers. At one point, he makes a comment about Peggy’s penchant for knives during the war, and she responds wistfully that she hasn’t thrown knives in years. So the two of them set up targets in the basement and incorporate knives in her hand-to-hand training. Peggy grins from ear-to-ear every time they finish, collapsing onto the mats in a satisfied sprawl.
They learn each other in whole new ways, especially Peggy and Bucky. It’s amusing to watch them circle around each other with barbs and teasing, then finally with gazes and touching. The first time Peggy sinks down onto Bucky’s cock, Steve is out of his mind with how damn beautiful they look together. He doesn’t even want to join them, he just jerks off to the view from the other side of the bed, come splattering up his chest as Bucky thrusts inside of her, whispering ‘honey’ against her ear.
Bucky quickly realizes the underlying dynamic between Peggy and Steve, how she guides him, how he yields to her. He asks Steve about it one time while Peggy is taking a bath upstairs. His cheeks flush and he shrugs. “It grounds me,” he replies. “It clears my head.”
“Ah,” Bucky says softly and then throws him a half-smile before shrugging himself. “I could’ve seen the appeal once upon a time.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Little Steve Rogers bossin’ me around when I got home from the docks? I mean, you basically did it anyway, but this version sounds a lot more fun.”
“Oh,” Steve responds, blushing even harder. “Is that… is that something you want now?”
Bucky shakes his head. “Nah. Not as fun when Zola’s the boss, is it?”
Steve takes his hand. “He’s not anymore.”
Bucky nods, smiling sadly. “I know. But I don’t always remember that.”
*
* *
Bucky gazes at him sometimes when he thinks Steve’s not looking, eyes dark and contemplative. It happens more now that Bucky knows the truth. He never says anything, never asks the dozens of questions that Peggy did about the future or how time travel works. He just looks at Steve in a far off manner, and Steve worries.
“We can talk, Buck.” Steve whispers one night, the two of them lying in Bucky’s bedroom. “If there’s anything you want to know about… about any of it."
Bucky shakes his head, averting his gaze. “I don’t want to know.”
“Oh,” Steve says, hurt creeping into his voice. Bucky must hear it because he turns to face him again.
“No, Stevie, it’s just—it’s hard enough to be in this reality sometimes. It takes a lot to work through my filters. I can’t muddle that up with…” he gestures roundly, “all of that.”
“Alright,” Steve says, pulling him closer, sounding maudlin to his own ears.
“Jeez, punk,” Bucky replies, his smile suddenly too bright. A deflection. “Just let me enjoy you in the here and now.”
Steve opens his mouth to object, but Bucky presses their lips together. He kisses his mouth, open and hungry, he whispers “sweetheart” against his neck, achingly sweet. So Steve gives in. He gives in just this once.
*
* *
It’s Thanksgiving before they know it. Bucky cooks for two days straight, and the house smells of fresh sage and rosemary. They invite Howard and Jarvis and Ana. They invite Josephine, too, though she only stays for a few minutes. She leaves behind a basket of croissants before she says goodbye, and they’re so good that Howard asks if she’s single.
“Seriously, I’m very wealthy!” He calls out after her when she heads toward the door.
“Leave that poor woman alone,” Peggy says, coming up next to Howard’s chair.
“She didn’t seem to mind,” Bucky chimes in with a grin.
“She doesn’t know his reputation.”
“Aw, I would’ve changed my ways for you, Peg,” Howard responds, throwing an arm around her waist.
“Not that you had a chance before, Mr. Stark, but you had zero chance once Captain Rogers returned,” Jarvis says.
Howard glares at Steve playfully before taking a taking a swig of gin. “Yeah, I guess no one has a chance with Peggy Carter with him around.”
Steve looks up and sees Peggy and Bucky sharing a small, private smile.
There’s food (so much food) and drinking and dancing in the living room to Glenn Miller. Bucky complains about his super metabolism keeping him sober, and then Howard gets a far-off look and tells him five minutes later he can take care of that.
“I’ll have some behind the bar for the New Year’s party,” he says. “A Christmas present for you and Cap.”
“What party?” Peggy asks.
“Having a small get-together for a few hundred people at my place on the North Shore. Booze, dancing, debauchery—but don’t tell Peggy. You’re all invited.”
“That’s really nice, Howard,” Steve says, “but it’s too risky until we get rid of HYDRA. Bucky keeps a low profile right now. Big party at a Stark mansion would be too much.”
Howard honest-to-god pouts before Ana sits up. “You could always have a masquerade? That way no one will know who he is.”
“I don’t know—”
“No, I’d like that,” Bucky says with a smile. “I really would.” Steve looks at him questioningly. “I miss going out and dancin’, you know? It’d be nice."
“There you have it, Cap,” Howard says. “You’re not going to stop this man from having a night of fun, are ya?”
*
* *
Thompson is officially recruited to HYDRA at the end of November.
“They’re busy,” he says to Steve and Peggy one snowy morning. “They’ve got one person on Eisenhower’s transition team and are aiming for another for the cabinet.”
Peggy sighs. “Any idea how large the organization is at this point?”
“No idea. The conversation was pretty American-centric. There were seven of us there, but no Zola, so who knows how many more of them there are. I do have the impression that infiltrating the U.S. is their highest priority, which makes sense.”
It does. The U.S. is a powerhouse now that the war is over, and Dr. Zola himself is stationed at the Pentagon. “That probably means most members are here in the U.S.”
“Any word on the Winter Soldier?"
“Yeah. They’re pissed and they’re looking. But it doesn’t seem like they’ve got any leads.”
Steve exhales a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
*
* *
More information creeps in throughout December: names, a couple of meeting locations, recruiting efforts. Steve is surprised how much intel Jack is collecting at such a quick rate.
“It’s just rubbin’ elbows, Cap. Get a few drinks in these HYDRA pricks and they can’t shut up.” He says with a cocky grin. “Speaking of pricks, they’ve even got call girls spying for them.”
“You mean like a Dottie Underwood situation?” Peggy asks, frowning in concern. From what Peggy told him, Dottie was trained in the same program as Natasha. She was vicious, lethal, and, of course, well-versed in spinning webs. Howard was, of course, one of her targets.
“No, this didn’t sound that advanced. At least not from what they told me.”
It’s mid-month when he shares that Dr. Zola has a small research facility outside DC. “Westley heads there sometimes on the weekends. He says it allows Zola to take fewer trips to the U.S.S.R.”
Steve thinks of the Siberian facility: the cryo chambers, the chair that warped Bucky’s mind. His blood turns cold.
“Experiments? Weapons?” Peggy asks.
Thompson shrugs. “Both, probably. I don’t know for sure.”
“Any chance of you getting in there?” Steve asks. If Zola is treating it as a new hub, there’s a possibility that records are stored there. Maybe they could get their hands on member names or other incriminating evidence.
“Not anytime soon,” he replies. “I’m not a scientist, so it’d be suspicious for me to sniff around. Give me a few months and I’ll casually work in an interest to see it. Westley loves to brag though. He might let something interesting slip.”
“Alright,” Steve says. It’ll have to do for now.
*
* *
Steve didn’t care much for Christmas as a kid. The cold made him sick, the lack of money made him fret about getting something nice for Bucky or his ma. All of that changed when he joined the Avengers. Tony made a big production of it every year: 15-foot Christmas trees, Secret Santa, a feast that included everyone’s favorite food and alcohol. He’d dress up like Santa and try to convince everyone to sit in his lap and tell him what they wanted under the tree that year.
Nat used to use the term found family to describe what they were to each other. And Christmas with the Avengers was when he felt that the most. After Thanos, there weren’t anymore showy spectacles in Midtown Manhattan. It was just him and Nat and whatever stray hero was around the compound that year. She’d put up a little tree and make him watch Christmas movies, her feet tucked under his legs on the couch. One year, she got him a sketchbook and a set of charcoal, and he gave her a new pair of ballet shoes, and he realized they were telling each other the same thing: to take time for themselves in the midst of all the turmoil and heartbreak.
So he appreciates Christmas now in a way he never did before the war. He’s glad for it when both Peggy and Bucky get glossy-eyed over string lights and eggnog and picking out a tree. Bucky hangs up mistletoe in a new place every day, trying to catch both of them unaware with soft kisses and smiles. One time, Steve moves it himself and ends up surprising Peggy so thoroughly that they have sex right against the bathroom sink, her legs wrapped around him as he thrusts inside of her.
So, yeah. Merry Christmas, indeed.
*
* *
Things take a downward turn when Bucky wakes up tired and sullen on Christmas Eve from the roughest night he’s had in a while.
“I don’t want to ruin Christmas,” he whispers against Peggy’s shoulder in the kitchen.
“You’re not ruining anything, love. Let’s just rest today, hmmm?”
“But—”
“Uh-uh.” She shakes her head. “You’re going to eat some oatmeal and then you’re going to sleep and then we’re going to laze about all day while Steve takes care of us.” She turns her head and smiles at Steve. He huffs a laugh.
It’s a sad, melancholic sort of day, but they make the most of it, snuggled together on the couch under thick blankets, listening to Christmas tunes on the radio. It bleeds into Christmas morning, but there are smiles when they open presents. Bucky opens up a stack of pulp novels, a couple of cookbooks, and a pair of soft leather gloves to help hide his metal hand. Peggy receives knives, several of them. One is even a pen that turns into a knife (that one is from Steve), and she gives a rapturous, devious smile when she realizes what it is. She also gets a pair of stockings from Bucky — sorry for ruining your last pair — and a bottle of her favorite wine.
Steve cleaned up his sketches of Peggy and Bucky and had them framed, and he gifts them to the unknowing models after they’ve opened everything else.
Bucky’s eyes soften, and he chokes out, “Stevie,” recognizing the importance of the moment that Steve drew. Peggy’s face lights up beautifully, and she hugs him tightly.
They finally pull Steve out to the garage, Bucky holding his hands over Steve’s eyes so he won’t peek. When he opens then, he sees that the garage has been transformed into an art studio, with a long table filled with paints and brushes, canvasses, pencils and charcoal, and a stack of sketchbooks. There’s an easel with a canvas already set up, and on it are two hearts painted in very different styles, one from each of them.
“This is incredible,” Steve whispers around a lump in his throat. He wraps his arms around both of them, kissing their foreheads.
It’s a quiet and calm Christmas Day, but Steve has no complaints.
*
* *
They drive to Howard’s on New Year’s Eve morning, the North Shore barren against the December sky. Jarvis is waiting for them when they arrive, standing in front of the largest, most ostentatious home Steve has ever seen. The apple definitely won’t fall far from the tree, he thinks.
Jarvis smiles. “Mr. Stark is with a, erm, business associate. I thought it may be best to take you around back so Mr. Carter is not seen.”
“Alright,” Bucky replies, but they’re immediately interrupted by a string of women in various stages of undress pouring out the front door and heading to the garden to the right, despite the fact that it’s 40 degrees.
“Business associate?” Peggy asks, her brow arched.
“Erm, well, he’s securing entertainment for the evening,” Jarvis says. Peggy rolls her eyes.
A final woman exits, a bit older, seemingly in charge. She has red hair and redder lips and a long fur coat held at her neck with her hand. Howard follows her and gives her a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Celine.”
“Of course, darling. We’ll see you tonight.” She turns and sees them standing there. “Oh, looks like your guests have already begun to arrive.”
Howard waves them away. “Don’t mind them. They’re not guests.”
Celine runs an appreciative glance over Bucky and then, after a moment, does the same to Steve.
“Can we go inside now?” Peggy asks, scowling.
Steve laughs. “Yes, Peggy.”
They have lunch with Howard and Ana and then Jarvis shows them to their rooms, which are diagonal from each other at the end of a very long hallway.
Bucky throws himself on their bed after Jarvis leaves. “Can’t wait to sneak out in the middle of the night to return to my room like one of Howard’s girls downstairs,” he says. “I just need a satin robe falling off my shoulder to complete the look.”
“You rang?” Peggy asks from the wardrobe, a hanger holding a pale pink robe rests on her index finger.
Bucky barks a laugh. “Leave it to Howard.”
*
* *
Bucky’s downright bouncy the rest of the day, smiling so much his face probably hurts, touching both of them every chance he gets, and it’s infectious to see Bucky so happy and bright.
At nightfall, Ana comes and grabs Peggy to get ready — like old times, she says — leaving Bucky and Steve to fend for themselves. They both change into tuxes, Bucky’s newly acquired from a tailoring session with Jarvis. He hangs a white tie around his neck, looks at the mirror, and then looks at Steve.
“You know, I don’t actually know how to tie a fuckin’ bowtie,” he says.
“Here,” Steve says, getting up from the bed. He stands in front of him and reaches for the tie.
“How do you know how to do this?”
Steve raises an eyebrow and tries not to grin. “You saying I’m not a fancy guy?”
He huffs. “Sure, pal.” Then he looks down at both of them and cracks a smile. “A couple of Brooklyn schlubs in tuxedos. Who would’ve thought?”
Steve kisses him then, the bowtie only halfway finished, but he doesn’t care. Bucky looks so handsome with his slicked hair and stiff collar and the bluest eyes Steve’s ever seen. He thinks of years wasted, both of them too stupid to go after what they wanted, and now Steve can kiss him and hold him and love him every day for the rest of their lives. When he pulls back, Bucky’s looking at him like he hung the moon and stars, and his chest constricts under the warm weight of his gaze.
The door suddenly opens and Bucky jumps back because, of course, they’re not at home and only one other person should be seeing that.
“It’s just me, loves,” he hears Peggy say, and when Steve turns to face her, his mouth falls slack. She is… a vision. Her dress is black, sleeveless, and cut to allow an ample amount of cleavage. It’s form-fitting until midway down her thigh, where the skirt flares and opens to reveal an inner lining of burgundy ruffles at the knee, and more ruffles trail down to where the dress falls right above her ankle. She’s already wearing her mask, shiny and black with a large, dark red feather on the side, curling over her coiffed hair.
“Shit, honey,” Bucky whispers behind him, his voice full of awe.
“Not too shabby, eh?” she responds with a smirk.
She’s not wearing lipstick yet, a sign of permission for Steve or Bucky to kiss her senseless, so Steve steps forward and does just that. She moans sweetly against his lips before he takes her hands in his and steps back to look her over again. ”You look stunning.”
“So do you,” she says, her eyes raking over him with appreciation. “Where are your masks?”
“Haven’t gotten that far,” Bucky says. He picks up the ends of the forgotten tie and gestures for Steve to continue. Steve finishes him up and Bucky dons a white jacket before walking over to a box on the bed. “Jarvis helped me find something that would cover most of my face.”
He pulls it out and steps in front of the mirror to put it on. It’s the face of a wolf, Steve realizes, made of silver metal, an illusion of fur carved into its surface, complete with ears and a snout. He’s right; it does cover most of his face and if Steve didn’t know him so intimately, he’d have no idea who he was. Then Steve takes in the complete look— the mask and his white tuxedo— and his breath catches before he can stop himself.
“What?” Bucky asks.
“Nothing,” Steve says, trying to smile, brushing past him to find his own mask in the suitcase. He tries his best to honor Bucky’s wishes to keep the future where it belongs. He shouldn’t have reacted that way.
“Oh… you can tell me—if you want. It’s fine.”
He turns to face him. “The people who helped you—him— recover called him the White Wolf.”
He turns back toward the mirror. He looks at himself for several moments before squaring his shoulders. “The White Wolf,” he repeats softly, like he’s trying it on for size.
*
* *
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Peggy,” Howard exclaims, removing a cigar from his mouth.
“Hello to you, too,” she responds as they walk toward him, her arm draped over Steve’s.
“Promise me one dance tonight. Please.”
“Very well,” she says, accepting the kiss to her cheek.
“Two?”
“Don’t press your luck. I got several new knives for Christmas, and I’m not afraid to use them.”
“What’s life without a little danger, huh?” He turns to Steve and Bucky. “Alright, Cap. James. Come with me.”
He takes them to the bar and pulls the bartender aside. “These are the two gentlemen I told you about. Make sure they’re taken care of.”
“Yes, Mr. Stark,” the man says, and pulls a bottle from below the counter. It’s unmarked, except for a red star painted on the glass.
“What is it?” Steve asks.
“Scotch, I believe, sir.” So Steve orders his on the rocks and Bucky orders his neat.
“To getting drunk,” Bucky says. They clink glasses and take a sip. “Will it work?”
“I guess we’ll find out,” Steve replies, suddenly hoping Howard actually tried this out in some form or fashion before using them as guinea pigs. “If we don’t die.”
It does work. Steve Rogers gets intoxicated for the first time since Thor shared the good stuff from Asgard, and it settles over him like a nice warm blanket, his body loose and relaxed. The mask hides most of Bucky’s face, he can barely even see his mouth, but he can tell from the way his shoulders ease up as he sways to the band’s music that he gets there as well.
They take turns dancing with Peggy, though Bucky probably dances two with her for every one that Steve does. That works out just fine for him. Bucky and Peggy are much better dancers than he is, and Bucky needs tonight more than he does. He ends up taking a lot of the slower numbers and revels in the feel of her body pressed against his and the sweet smile she gives him every time their eyes meet behind their masks.
At one point, Ana asks him to dance, and she spends the entire song waxing so poetically about Peggy that he wonders if she loves her the same way he does, happily married to Jarvis or not.
That leads him down a whole new alcohol-induced rabbit hole of thoughts when he sits back down: Is Peggy attracted to women too? Is that why she was okay with Bucky and me? She never said, but he also never asked. But surely she would tell him if she wanted him to know, right?
He’s deciding to just leave it alone when Bucky comes up to him, pulling him out of his reverie. He’s holding two drinks and he hands one to Steve before sitting next to him.
“You alright there, buddy?”
Steve nods. “Yeah, I’m fine. Got lost in thought. Where’s Peggy?”
“Finally dancing with Howard.” He takes a sip.
“How are you feeling?” Steve asks, his voice softening.
“Great,” he responds, a hint of a smile visible beneath his mask. His hair has fallen over his mask and he pushes it back. “Really great. I didn’t realize how much I needed tonight.” He presses his leg against Steve’s and leans in to whisper, the snout of his mask brushing against his cheek. “Wish I could dance with you.”
He exhales shakily. “Me too, Buck.” The ballroom is full at this point, all 200 guests plus all of the women from that morning too. No one is paying attention to them in this far corner of the room, but neither of them is dumb enough to try anything here.
“Let’s sneak off when Peggy gets done.” His breath is warm on Steve’s neck. It makes him shiver. “There’s a record player in the room.”
“And miss the countdown?” Steve asks, though he’s already convinced.
“We got a fuckin’ watch, don’t we?” He discreetly rubs his leg against Steve’s, and just that alone is making him hard. “We don’t need anybody else to ring in the new year. Just us.”
He takes a deep breath. “Go on. I’ll wait for Peggy, and then we’ll come up.”
He finishes his drink and sets the glass on the chair. “Aye-aye, Captain.” Steve watches him saunter off.
Peggy’s flushed when she returns, her chest heaving after such a spirituous song, and she sinks down ungracefully next to Steve. “I don’t think I’ve stopped dancing the entire night.”
He leans down and kisses her shoulder. “Bucky went upstairs.”
“Oh?”
He looks at her. “He wants us to join him.”
“Oh.”
*
* *
Bucky’s already got Tommy Dorsey playing when they get up to the room, but you wouldn’t know it from the hallway.
“Are the rooms soundproof?” Steve asks, taking off his mask. He couldn’t even hear the band downstairs.
“It’s Howard’s house,” Peggy replies. “Of course they are.” She falls into the armchair in the corner of the room. “You two dance for a bit,” she says, smiling. “You deserve it.”
Bucky’s mask is off and his tie is undone when he pulls Steve into his arms. If Steve closes his eyes, he can imagine they’re back downstairs, dancing with everyone else, not a soul caring that the two of them are together. There’s a twist in his heart, knowing that they could’ve done that exact thing in a different place and time, that he could’ve done that with the other Bucky if he’d known then what he knows now.
“You always liked this song,” Bucky says against his ear, interrupting his thoughts.
“Who doesn’t like Frank Sinatra?” he responds.
You give me your arms and your arms are like angel wings,
Sweet to my ear is the song every bluebird sings
“Used to think about you when I heard it,” Bucky says so softly he barely hears it.
Each rosebud kissed by the dew,
All this is mine and heaven too.
“It was just a dream back then, you know,” he continues, and looks between him and Peggy. “But now it’s real.”
Steve kisses him. He kisses him like it’s the first time, like it’s the last time, pouring every ounce of love and longing into it. He’s still hazy from Howard’s Scotch, and he knows Bucky is too, he tastes it on his tongue. Bucky pulls away, eyes half-lidded, mouth red and wet. Then he turns toward Peggy, who’s biting her lip while she watches them, and holds out his hand.
“You joinin’ us, honey?”
*
* *
Steve will never be over the sounds Bucky makes when Steve pushes inside him for the first time. It’s sometimes a whine or a soft groan, but it always sounds like he just can’t help it, like it’s escaping from his lips without his knowledge. This time he exhales, “Fuck, sweetheart,” like he’s overwrought with the sensation of it. Or maybe it’s the combination of Steve sliding his dick into him when Bucky’s cock is already buried inside Peggy, all three of them pressed together side-by-side.
Steve loses himself in the hot grip of Bucky’s body, in the sounds of Peggy crying out as she comes, in the warm buzz still coursing through him. He goes over the edge right before Bucky does, Bucky’s nose buried in Peggy’s neck, his moans muffled against her skin. They lie there for several moments after Bucky tosses his condom to the floor, tracing each other’s skin with soft fingers. Peggy turns over and kisses both of them, softly, slowly. He still tastes like her from earlier, but she never seems to mind.
They’ve just finished cleaning up when there’s a very loud cheer from downstairs, noisy enough to be heard in their quiet little room.
“Happy fuckin’ New Year,” Bucky says with a broad grin.
“Indeed,” Peggy responds before kissing both of them again. They lie in bed for a while, Peggy between them, before Bucky yawns twice in one minute.
“I should go to sleep,” he says.
“Mm, no, stay,” Peggy whines.
“Bed’s too small, honey,” he says, but then he grins when he stands up, making a show of putting on the pink robe from earlier.
Peggy giggles. “Oh, James.”
He ties the sash in a bow before loosening the collar down and over his right shoulder.
“Goodnight, sugars,” he says with a high-pitched voice.
“Get out of here,” Steve says before throwing a pillow at him.
Peggy smiles softly when Bucky closes the door and snuggles closer to Steve. “I can’t believe this is our life sometimes.”
“Me either. I don’t think I’ll ever believe it.” He pulls her even closer to him and rubs circles on her back until they fall asleep, tangled together, her hand over his heart. Tomorrow he’ll sneak into Bucky’s room and hold him until he wakes with a groggy smile and sour kisses. But for now, he’ll lie in her arms and sleep soundly.
*
* *
There’s a knock on the door early the next morning, the sunlight barely peeking through the curtains.
“God, who is it?” Peggy grumbles. Steve throws on his pants from last night and walks over to open the door.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Captain Rogers,” Jarvis says, pausing at Steve’s state of undress. Jarvis himself is in a robe and pajamas. “But there’s an urgent call for Ms. Carter.”
She sits up and clutches the sheet to her chest. “Who is it?”
“Jack Thompson."
Steve whips around to look at Peggy, whose eyes are wide as saucers. “I’ll be right there,” she says, her voice stricken.
She grabs her own robe from the armchair and ties the sash while Steve throws on an undershirt. They rush out into the hall and Jarvis takes them to the nearest phone.
“Peggy Carter,” she says when she picks it up. After a moment, her eyes look to Steve’s, stricken, her face crumpling. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Jack.” Her voice waivers, and she closes her eyes af if she’s trying to collect herself. “How long has your grandmother been ill?”
As soon as she says the words, Steve is sprinting down the hall to Bucky’s room because calling in to visit a sick grandmother is Thompson’s code for HYDRA has the Winter Soldier.
HYDRA has the Winter Soldier.
He opens the door, steps inside, and the sight before him makes him stagger and fall to his knees. The pink robe is discarded on the floor in front of him. The room is wrecked, overturned furniture, broken lamps, punch-holes in the wall. HYDRA has the Winter Soldier, but he didn’t let them take him without a fight.
Until they scrambled his brain with 11 choice words, and then he would’ve walked out as docile as a lamb.
“Steve?” He hears Peggy’s voice from the hall. “Oh, no,” she says coming behind him. “Oh, Steve.”
He vaguely feels her hand against the back of his neck, and she’s speaking, calling out for Jarvis, but then her voice fades away, in and out.
Get Howard — Rose — a helicopter — suit — soundproof — Zola — Colonel — I don’t care if it’s New Year’s Day.
“Peggy?” He is still kneeling on the ground. The sun is brighter now.
“Yes, darling."
He looks at her and her hair is a mess and she didn’t take off her makeup from last night so there are streaks of black down her face from her tears and she’s crying because— Bucky is gone, Bucky is gone after everything — everything — all of the planning and the rescue and the recovery and the healing, and, and what they’ve shared, the three of them, all of that has been erased because he’s just fucking gone all over again and how many times is he going to lose him?
“How many times?” he asks, and he realizes that he’s crying now. She kneels before him and takes him in her arms and he presses his face into her neck. She doesn’t say anything, just allows him to collect himself. It takes him a while for the sobs to ebb away, for his mind to clear, which shames him; he’s Captain America and he’s glued to the floor, shaking and sobbing like a civilian.
When he finally comes to, he takes a deep, shaky breath and wipes the tears from his eyes and cheeks. “I heard you talking to Jarvis.” His voice is hoarse. “What’s already been done?"
“Howard will fly us to Camp LeHigh in his helicopter. Rose will go to our place and collect our things: your suit and shield and my weapons. She will meet us at Camp Lehigh. We’ll then take a plane to DC, assuming that’s where he’ll be. I’ll be in contact with Colonel Phillips soon.”
“Do we have the location of the DC facility?” He stands up and holds out a hand to help her up. She takes it.
“Jack said he didn’t know which hospital his grandmother was staying in, but he’d leave the location with Rose when he receives it if we want to send flowers.”
He sighs. “We’re flying blind then.”
“A lot can happen in the next couple of hours.”
Jarvis appears at the door and gives Steve a sad, pitiful look before addressing Peggy. “I’ve informed Howard. Ana is working on procuring the finalized guest list, though how anyone would’ve recognized him with the mask on is beyond me.”
Steve runs yesterday through his memory. Bucky didn’t wear his mask when he left their room, did he? But he definitely wore it the rest of the night. Did anyone—
He looks up sharply. “The woman yesterday morning. Celine. She saw him. She looked at him.”
Peggy gasps. “Jack said they were hiring escorts to do their dirty work. Of course, of course they were targeting Howard. We need to bring her in for interrogation.”
“We need to go now. Howard is a part of S.H.I.E.L.D. Let him handle Celine. I’ll fly the chopper.”
“Are you up for it, Steve?”
He tightens his jaw. “I’ll have to be.”
*
* *
Jack is waiting for them when they arrive to Camp LeHigh.
“You get us a location?” Steve asks.
“I got you one better. An invitation. We can Trojan Horse this thing if we play our cards right.” He looks at Peggy. “But that depends on you, Carter. Is it time to take me out?”
Peggy looks at him, and Steve gives a single nod; he’s tired of espionage and backdoor meetings. He wants to do this his way now.
*
* *
Colonel Phillips arranges for a car to meet them when they arrive to D.C., and Steve and Peggy crawl into the trunk, the two of them pressed tightly together, Peggy’s arms around him. Jack drives them to the facility; it takes them an hour from the base, and the trunk is a mixture of uncomfortable body heat and cold January air.
“We’re going to get him,” Peggy whispers against his ear, holding his hand tightly. “He’s not lost, alright? We’re going to get him.” He doesn’t respond; she doesn’t want him to. Steve just squeezes his eyes shut and breathes deeply, allowing the hum of the engine to numb his mind.
The car finally stops and Steve hears muffled voices. He holds his breath, waiting for the trunk door to open and give them away, but it doesn’t. Thompson drives forward, and he breathes a sigh of relief. Bucky’s first extraction was so carefully planned, and here they are, flying by the seat of their pants, praying that this rescue, scraped together with duct tape and hope, is going to work.
The car stops, the driver door opens and shuts, and, after a few agonizing seconds, he hears two distant slaps on the roof of the car. That means that whatever is waiting for Steve and Peggy is manageable for the two of them to take themselves. They wait a few minutes before Peggy asks if they’re ready, and then Steve unlatches the trunk slowly and exits as silently as possible. She follows after him, landing softly on her feet.
They’re alone in a small garage, surrounded by four other cars. Peggy takes out her knife and makes quick work of slashing their tires. They move to the door. He nods to Peggy, and she opens it quickly, allowing Steve to step into the doorframe and grab the only guard that is there back into the garage before the guy can even blink. Peggy shuts the door behind them with a soft click, and he knocks the guy out in seconds. She’s already pulling out a pair of handcuffs, and of course, they should be taking these pricks into custody, offering plea deals to get information. He was so singularly focused on Bucky that it didn’t even cross his mind. He drags the body over to a nearby pole, and she cuffs him to it.
He opens the door, pulls out his shield, and steps forward with Peggy locking into step behind him. He’s not expecting much HYDRA presence here at this point. Bucky could only have been here a couple of hours, assuming they drove here from Long Island, so there couldn’t have been much time for many members to arrive. Westley’s relationship with both Dr. Zola and his penchant for spilling information that makes him seem important is probably the only reason that Thompson knows.
The space is filled with things Steve has seen at other HYDRA facilities: lab tables and medical beds with thick leather straps. There’s a half-completed cryostasis chamber to the left and Steve’s blood turns cold when he sees it, stopping in his tracks. Would they have stored Bucky right here under their noses if Thompson hadn’t gotten them here?
“To the right,” Peggy whispers, interrupting his thoughts, and he turns and sees a two-way mirror looking into another room. And there is Bucky, strapped to a chair, with Dr. Zola sitting in front of him. Thompson, Westley, and another man are standing to the side, talking to each other, Westley gesturing toward Bucky like he’s explaining what’s going on. Bucky isn’t struggling, Steve’s not even sure why he’s bound. He’s slack-jawed and glassy-eyed, and Steve knows he’s their soldier once more.
There’s a speaker button below the window, and Steve moves forward to turn it on, making sure the sound is down low in case there’s any echo within the room. Westley is speaking.
“The protocol is to erase the asset’s memory before assignment. It helps him focus on the mission. Dr. Zola doesn’t have that technology finished here Stateside. He’ll have to go to our Soviet facility for that, but the cryo chamber here is almost finished.”
Steve exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Bucky came around quickly when Zemo used the activation code because his memory hadn’t been erased. You used to wear newspaper in your shoes.
If they can get Bucky out of here, he’ll be alright. He’ll be alright.
“What’s his next assignment?” The other man asks.
“Right now? Telling Dr. Zola what he knows from the last few months. And let me tell ya, he’s shared some interesting things. We’re almost glad he got out.”
Peggy and Steve look to each other, eyes wide with fear. He reaches out to grab her hand. “Let’s go. You and Thompson handle those two. I’ll handle Zola.” He swallows. “And Bucky.” She nods.
Steve opens the door and Zola turns on him with wide eyes. “You,” Zola says, a smile creeping onto his face. Steve hauls him up and forcefully jams his shield down, breaking his leg with an audible crack. He stumbles down and Steve picks him up by his neck and slams him against the wall.
“You Nazi piece of shit,” Steve spits.
He laughs, choking against Steve’s hand. “The asset told us all about your doppelganger,” he says with a filthy smile. “We will find him. And we will make a new asset.” And then his eyes turn from Steve and to look toward Bucky’s direction. “Солдат… kill them.”
It only takes five seconds for Bucky to rip out of his restraints, and Steve turns to see him heading toward Peggy.
“No!” Steve yells, dropping Zola to the ground and rushing to stop him. He grabs Bucky by the shoulder and yanks him back. He rears back to punch Steve, but he catches his fist in his palm. “Bucky, no! You can fight this.” Bucky grunts and hits him with his metal hand, slamming him sideways several feet.
“Jack, get out of here and call S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Peggy shouts, before running and kicking Bucky in the gut from the side. Her fist slams into his face when he staggers. His body, the stiff, foreboding stature of the Winter Soldier, turns toward her. Steve clocks him in the back of the head with his shield, and then the three of them are fighting together, Bucky between them, a perverse parallel of their dance just the night before.
Steve finally knocks Bucky to the ground and pins him down, arm against his throat. He struggles against him, trying with all of his might to knock Steve off of his body. “Bucky, look at me. Look at me.” Bucky stops moving, his chest heaving beneath him, his jaw clenched. “It’s me, bud. It’s me.” He feels Peggy kneel beside him.
Bucky’s eyes soften very slowly, perceptibly so, and he sees The Soldier starting to lose its hold. “It’s me,” he whispers again. It takes a full minute but then—
“Steve,” his voice cracks. Steve sags with relief at the sound of his name, closing his eyes in silent thanks. Bucky then moves his gaze to the right, his brows furrowing with confusion. “Peggy?”
“Yeah, Bucky. I’m here too.” She’s smiling down at him, sadly, and Bucky’s body relaxes.
In the new-found silence, they hear shuffling, the sliding of fabric against concrete. They all turn and see Zola army-crawling across the room in an attempt to escape with his broken leg.
“Let me up,” Bucky says, serious, the anger returning to his face so quickly that Steve wonders if the Soldier didn’t lose its hold after all.
“Buck—” Steve says, but he’s already up and moving across the room. He yanks Zola upward and slams him against the wall.
Zola’s eyes widen in shock. “Солдат.”
“That is not,” his metal fingers squeeze around Zola’s neck, “my goddamn name.”
“Желание—”
“No!” Bucky yells, and snaps his neck before Zola can finish the activation, his body collapsing to the floor. Bucky turns, surveying the room, his brows still furrowed with anger, his body twitching with adrenaline. He sees Westley and the other man lying unconscious on the floor and he bends over and snaps their necks one after the other.
“Bucky!” Peggy says, “What are you doing? We were going to bring them in for questioning.”
He shakes his head. “They knew. Zola questioned me, and they heard me when I—I told Zola about the—the other Steve. It had to be done.” He squeezes his eyes shut and falls to his knees. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, love,” Peggy says, both of them getting up and kneeling in front of him. Peggy pulls him into her arms and Steve embraces both of them, feeling Bucky shudder against his frame.
“Fuck,” Bucky whispers, sounding dazed, “fuck. I don’t want to be in this place another minute. Can we just go home?”
All Steve wants to do right now is kiss Bucky and Peggy until the whole damn world fades into nothingness. He wants to wake up between both of them, his body sticky from too much shared body heat. He wants to eat fresh bread that Bucky baked that afternoon with Josephine, and he wants to see Peggy’s eyes crinkle as she laughs at her own tired, granny jokes. He wants to spend every single day with Bucky Barnes and Peggy Carter until the end of the damn line. And none of that is going to happen in the middle of a covert HYDRA facility outside DC. So he nods.
“Yeah, Buck,” Steve says. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”