Chapter Text
There should have been a fallout. At least, a mutual one. Bucky couldn’t be the only one left worse by the experience. He refused to believe that he really did fuck all the pain and want out of Walker in one drunken go. That the man wasn’t just peachy keen and unbothered, but cured of something that plagued him. Something that had been plaguing both of them for a long, long time.
“Are you lonely, too, Barnes?”
Walker’s breaking voice echoed in his head at least once a day, but he had enough sense to push it away—at least, when he was sober. The thoughts just creeped their way in when he inebriated himself and only half the time was it on purpose.
Three nights after the incident, Bucky found himself at a VFW knocking back whiskey and venting to a random bargoer about his problems. Since the silent feuding with Sam never seemed to end, this seemed like the best solution.
“See, it’s the desert, isn’t it? The desert made him crazy.” He said to the woman next to him. “D’that happen to you out there in… Iraq?”
“Afghanistan.” She replied and promptly turned away.
It didn’t matter, Walker had seen it all. A career soldier who spent his uniformed life awake, willing, and proud. Bucky knew that feeling, he had it so briefly when he stood alongside the Commandos. He wondered sometimes, maybe too often, what he would have done after the war if things went differently.
He liked to think that he and Steve would be sharing drinks at their own VFW down in Brooklyn—the one with the mismatched bricks and wobbly bar stools. In a better world they’d be happy and free of fear and danger. They’d hold each other until the trauma melted out of their skin and fell through the creaky floorboards of their apartment.
It was raining when he walked home that night. His hands pressing to the bottoms of his pockets pulled his hood right against the crown of his head as he descended into the subway. Sitting half-upright in that wobbly car as it made its local stops, Bucky decided to use up the last of his free, uninhibited thought not on memories and would have beens, but on the present and what could be. What shouldn’t be. What still might be, it he figured this out.
There was something there. Whether or not it was good for either of them, it existed nonetheless and Bucky couldn’t bear to keep ignoring it. At least, that’s just how he felt in this moment, when his mind was as open as when he made the decision to spread his legs for that pitiful man and his coarse, blonde chest hair.
As the PA chimed and announced his stop, Bucky hoisted himself upwards by the pole in front of him. The friction of his metal hand against the pole made a sound that was drowned by the much louder screech of the car brakes. Blending in with other tired and possibly drunk passengers, he shuffled out of the car and made his way to the street.
From there, it wasn’t a terribly long walk to the tower. Along the route was a favored bodega and a kickboxing gym that Bucky had been meaning to visit one of these days. A few more blocks later and he was there, in front of the newly rebranded building. It was both impressive and frustrating that Val manage to get that massive sign changed faster than he could move on from this emotional mess.
When he came through the doors, Bucky nodded to the man who occupied the lobby at this hour. This was no doorman, not like you’d see in any normal residential building. The man was armed security, likely an ex cop by the ridiculous way he stood with his hands cupping the top of his vest. There was always one or two there at a time and it often made Bucky wonder why there would be armed guards in a place so heavily secured by its own superhuman residents. Unless there was something sensitive in the tower other than Bob, who would be protected by teammates armed to the teeth at a moment’s notice.
Bucky walked into the elevator and shook away the thought. This was the alcohol talking, he’s being paranoid. Things are safe and stable right now—no looming threats to the city, country, or planet. God, he’s been to space and fought interstellar enemies for fuck’s sake, he’s too old to be hung up on something as trivial as a hookup. Something evidently so much more than a hookup, even if he couldn’t admit it to himself sober.
The elevator doors opened to the lingering smell of yesterday’s pizza. Stress overloaded his mind and senses, deeming cooking simply unmanageable. The other night, he burnt butter. Butter. This was hopeless.
Once in his room, Bucky drowsily began to shed his clothes and eventually his arm, which he set aside on his dresser. He collapsed into bed with a breathy groan and shuffled the covers over him. At this new orientation, his head spun and swirled and he pressed his palms to his eyes to steady himself. In the visions of color and static that appeared under the pressure, he saw Walker over him, relentlessly fucking the misery out of him.
He decided to let himself sink into the memory. Somehow, it was easier to reminisce with fondness than to dwell and worry. He fell asleep with a hard on.
Dreams came throughout the night, but they were gone by morning when Bucky woke up with nothing but the feeling they invoked. This wasn’t new. What was new was that he felt somehow both better and worse. As if his subconscious had unlocked the secret to getting over this and moving on—or maybe his dream self had enough guts to stop skirting around his obvious feelings and do something about them. But what about the fallout of that ?
It’s the reason Bucky kept from doing anything this whole time: for fear of putting cracks in their solid team. He knew deep down he’d already done that. He jeopardized the peace and belonging of everyone else the moment he looked at Walker with his back pressed against the bar and decided he was just barely enough. It was bound to happen, or that’s what he kept telling himself.
The truth was though that he made a bad decision and now he has to live with it. Has to keep moving forward and deal with whatever it brings. All he could do now was push down his feelings until they go away or Walker breaks this facade of nonchalance. Because it just has to be a facade, right?
Stop. Bucky thought to himself. Stop being hopeful.
It was wrong to hope for this, though, wasn’t it? To hope that something more would come of a shameful mistake that tarnished more than just his self worth. Truth be told, it tarnished Steve’s memory. To get drunk and fuck someone who’s visually the closest thing the world has to Captain America, but is actually further from that than he could ever imagine.
It was cruel .
The clock to the right of him read 6:30 and if his memory was correct, there was a briefing at 9 in the HQ. They’d gone from twice a week to daily since the official name change. Val was trying to get the most out of the publicity and lean into the Thunderbolts as a brand. Aside from the new cereal boxes already in production, there were conversations about new uniforms and signature colors and public appearances to rattle the press. It seemed so insignificant compared to the real missions that they’d gone on before the lawsuit brought everything to a screeching halt.
After clicking his arm back into place and giving it a good whirl, Bucky groggily made himself breakfast and headed to the training level of the Tower. Making the distinct choice to leave the lights off, he crossed the floor towards the punching bag that hung from a doubly-reinforced beam. Having three super soldiers in the building required such a level of preparation. There was that, and the pile of replacement bags in the corner.
Bucky just had his way with the one before him, giving it punch after calculated punch. The vast room was filled with the echoes of punches, rattling chains, and the grunts that escaped from his parted lips. He knew better than to clench his teeth.
When he felt satisfied and the fuzz in his brain subsided, he returned to his apartment to shower. In the steamy glass enclosure, he remembered that he went to bed hard and considered a little jack off under the hot water. But the moment he touched himself, an image flashed before his eyes of Walker’s sweat glistened collarbones. As if the flesh itself was scorching hot, he pulled his hand away and cranked the faucet to the opposite end. The icy water shocked his body like a neccessary act of torture.
“Stop that.” He whispered to himself and abruptly turned off the water.
There was still plenty of time to collect himself before heading up to HQ. Bucky took this opportunity to dry his hair and further clear his mind. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he consciously shook the thought that he was getting dolled up for someone. It’s not like that, he insisted in his head, it’s for my own self esteem. A routine is good, being put together early in the morning is good.
What was less good was that no matter how his hair looked, he was about to see Walker again. About to watch him go about business like everything was normal like he had been every day since...
To his knowledge, there was no palpable tension in the room for anyone to grasp on to, but Bucky would have to sit across from Walker and pretend it wasn’t there. That it wasn’t cloaked in something he didn’t believe either of them understood.
As he entered the elevator, he drew in a deep breath.
“Here we go.”