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Bucky is more mad at himself than anything.
He knew when he asked for Sam - begged for Sam - to fuck him, it wasn’t going to change anything. It was only going to last that little while and they’d go right back to everything being a painful mess between them, back to having to focus on the task at hand. Still, he’d been absolutely weak in that moment, knowing it was a shitty solution but needing to get out of his head for a bit, needing to drown out the shame and anger with himself pounding through him with the feel of Sam against him. As soon as it’s over, it comes crashing back all the harder, and he just feels worse for it not being what it once was.
So, when Sam makes the abrupt switch, no longer playing at being lovers, back to business, Bucky stalks off to the bathroom a little stiffly and slams the door behind him. He needs another minute to come down from that, to grit down against the self-hatred slamming into him, feeling pathetic. He realizes he forgot his clothes outside scattered on the floor, and curses his own inability to spare himself the tiniest shred of dignity.
“Get over it,” he tells himself quietly, turning the tap on the sink and damping down a washcloth to clean himself off with. It’s not as if it’s anything Sam hasn’t seen. It’s not as if he hadn’t been begging for Sam’s dick just before, any dignity he imagines he has is just that; imagined.
So he goes carefully neutral as he methodically scrubs the cloth over his skin, letting his mind turn cold and empty. He can be over it if Sam is. He balls up the washcloth and tosses it into the tub, figuring it doesn’t matter since their tour guide abandoned them. As he exits the bathroom, he almost walks right into Sam, who was about to knock, his own clothes hanging over his arm. He felt his face heat up all over again at their proximity, at Sam’s eyes flicking down his body, lingering around his hips. Bucky knows he’s looking at the small bruises he’d left behind, and he wished he didn’t like that Sam’s attention were drawn to them.
“You didn’t have to be childish about it,” Sam grumbles, pushing past Bucky to get into the room, “I need to clean up, too.”
“I needed a minute,” his voice comes out a little rougher than he expected, like it’s still shot from how loud he got before.
Something in it must translate worrisome to Sam, who looks back with a slightly softened expression, “You good?”
And what the fuck is he supposed to do with that? He’s aware his face remains a little pink, he’s still standing here naked as they come after Sam had just fucked the shit out of him just minutes ago. The other man wants his soul laid bare as well?
“Yeah, I’m having the time of my life,” he replies after silently holding eye contact with the guy for what was probably much too long.
“Go get dressed, we got shit to do,” Sam tells him impatiently, like that hadn’t been what Bucky was just about to do.
They’re walking down the streets of Riga later when Sam gets a call from his sister. He immediately knows something is wrong, Sam tenses and his pace speeds up, voice becoming very serious very quickly, stained with concern. When Bucky asks, he tells him Karli called his sister, threatened Sam’s nephews, looking for leverage to get a meeting with Sam. The text chimes in shortly, he was meant to go alone. That obviously wasn’t happening.
“I’m coming with you,” the choice is as obvious and natural to Bucky as breathing, there was no way he was letting Sam meet these people without backup. Less of a choice, less of a thought, just a natural reaction or state of being. Who knew how many ways that could end up sideways, with Sam hurt or gone or… no, Bucky was coming with him. Sam didn’t try to argue that as they spent a long moment just staring at one another on the sidewalk as people swerved around them to pass by. Sam nods after a bit, turning back the way they came.
Something has shifted between them, just enough that it needs to be addressed, and soon. It’s softened up just enough that he could tell Sam all the things he’s sorry for, even if it won’t solve the hurt, even if it just ends up with them calling off all the fooling around, just focusing on getting along enough to see this through.
Sam doesn’t even end up talking to Karli all that much, and Karli doesn’t seem all that bothered by Bucky’s presence for all that she warned him to come alone. She comments on it, but her eyes barely leave Sam until he looks back to Bucky, more observing the silent interaction than worrying over the fact that he’s there. Guess it makes a difference that he’s not John Walker.
Though, of course he rears his ugly head once more. Shit hits the fan all over, Hoskins dies and Walker responds by beheading a guy, in front of a crowd in broad daylight, with the shield. It’s bone-chilling and sobering.
When they find Walker, Bucky follows Sam’s lead, trying to reason with the man. He can see the altercation coming a mile away, though. The man resorts to violence frighteningly quick, Bucky is able to take the guy’s gun before he can go for it himself, but winds up getting thrown into a circuit breaker, electricity pulses through him and he has no clue how much time passes before he regains consciousness. But luckily he does just in time, seeing John tearing off Sam’s wings, and Bucky goes cold and panicked, a frigid memory passes through him.
He once tore those wings off, kicked Sam out of the sky, letting him plummet thousands of feet through unforgiving air. Bucky leaps at Walker as he raises the shield again, ready and willing to use it as a murder weapon once more. It’s a fraction of relief to get him off of and away from Sam, even more so when he’s actually down for the count and Bucky doesn’t have to look through this lense of watching a crazed super soldier go after Sam, wondering how much is a repetition of what he was like before he recovered. It’s sickening to think this might be some fucked up reflection of his own past. What’s especially relieving is that he doesn’t have to worry Sam is going to get seriously injured by Walker. He knows the man can handle himself in a fight, knows he survived Bucky at his worst more than once. Doesn’t mean Sam is any less vulnerable.
Bucky picks up the discarded shield, takes a moment to look at the surface, still smeared with the murdered man’s blood, before dropping it beside Sam. It was his to decide what to do with it. It was nowhere near Bucky’s place to have a say in that.
He doesn’t stick around for long afterwards, doesn’t directly answer Sam when he asks if he’s going after Zemo. Taking care of Zemo. The implication is clear, Sam wants to know if Bucky plans on killing the man. He knows that he owes Sam more, but he’s taking baby steps. He’ll let Sam know when it’s over, it has the potential to turn ugly anyway. Everything does. He doesn’t want to make a promise that he won’t harm Zemo, doesn’t want to potentially let Sam down. Bucky is tired of disappointing him.
It’s obvious where Zemo is headed, but the wrong that Bucky has to right isn’t just simply for freeing Zemo, it’s for betraying the Wakandans trust and time and effort they put into rehabilitating him. He’ll never even those scales, and he knows it’s beyond bold of him to ask Ayo for a favor after handing Zemo off. He asks anyway, on the off chance she feels overly generous.
He follows Sam home, in a way. Big, romantic gesture in tow, and he feels all kinds of ridiculous and cheesy about it so he tries to be nonchalant. Act like he showed up to help out mostly, talk around the big metal box he dumped unceremoniously on the bed of a truck, make it a minor detail that can be looked at once he leaves. It’s always made him uncomfortable to give people something meaningful like that, the way you have to worry they aren’t going to like it or you got something wrong. He doesn’t want to have to look that in the eye, so he leaves it to Sam, makes himself otherwise useful.
Bucky is happy that Sam accepts his help, it makes his heart swell to be around a family and community that seem to care so much, that have all rallied around this worn out little boat and are pouring their love into. So maybe he likes showing off in front of Sam, enjoying the flat annoyed expression he gets in response. He’s got that look memorized, if he were inclined that way he could draw it from memory. (If he were the gushy romantic type he’d say it was etched into his heart. It’s not. He’s not. )
As golden hour washes over the docks, the two of them sit and sip slowly on a couple of beers. Bucky racks his brain for something to say, anything at all, while not wanting to ruin a perfect moment. Sam looks beautiful bathed in the late sunlight, Bucky can hardly keep his eyes off the other man, but Sam’s eyes keep traveling back to that metal case. An unexpected weight, a heavy presence. It’s clear he doesn’t want to make a move for it yet, while also being drawn to it.
“Well,” he finally breaks that silence, trying to get Sam’s attention off of it before the temptation to open it breaks him, “Catch my flight tomorrow. Get a hotel room for the night. Crash, you know?”
Bucky is perfectly aware how obvious that is, and he doesn’t care. He shamelessly wants to spend more time around Sam and his family.
“You’re just gonna set me up like that, huh?” Sam barely lets him finish his sentence, and Bucky thinks for a moment he might have mistepped.
“Well, I don’t wanna make it weird for your family.”
“Just stay here,” Sam tells him firmly, starting to wax on about how welcoming the people in the town are, as if Bucky hadn’t just witnessed it for himself. Bucky relents (as if he had really needed convincing) and smiles a real smile at Sam. It feels like it’s been a while since he’d done that.
“But don’t flirt with my sister,” comes the stern warning.
“No,” he agrees.
“Because if you do I’ll have Carlos cut you up and feed you to the fish.”
“Okay.”
Bucky heads back towards the house first, leaving Sam to his thoughts for a few moments longer. He lingers outside a little while, until Sarah comes out, all kind and pretty and friendly. Bucky’s not actually trying to flirt with her, that’s not a line he’d cross. But she’s nice, and Bucky is reminded of a time he was more like that, like he’s trying to find that outgoing and charming man of so many decades ago, the one who fell from a train.
“He told you to stay over, right?” she asks, from her tone it’s clear she knows the answer, “I don’t want to hear you’re heading back to some hotel after all you’ve done today.”
“He did, I hope that's not an intrusion."
"Don't be ridiculous," she flashes a smile at him, "It's getting dark, why don't you come on inside since Sam's being a bad host."
"He's not-"
"You don't have to defend my little brother to me, Bucky," she tells him, voice soft with laughter, "It's real sweet that you want to, though. Don't worry, I won't tell him."
Bucky is silent for a moment as he follows her into the house, feeling a bit of heat creep onto his face as he considers the implication in those words. She's considerate enough not to draw attention to the blush if she notices.
"If you and Sam are anything alike, something tells me that's not quite true," he replies, intoning his voice carefully to make sure it stayed clear he was making a joke, not an accusation.
"Okay, so, you're right," she says easily, leaning against the kitchen counter and looking him over, "I wanna get Sam to tell me all about this sad-eyed man that followed him home like a lost puppy. Whoever he is, he's got one hell of a knack for looking tragic."
"You don't know who I am?" It's not that Bucky expects people to know him at first glance, he usually doesn’t get that, actively tries to avoid it. He was somewhat expecting Sam’s sister to know of him, at the very least.
"Oh, I know who you are," she tells him with a wave of her hand, "I just want to know exactly who you are to Sam and how worried about it I gotta be. You are the one he chased all over Europe for a couple years then got himself arrested over, right?"
She almost keeps the accusation completely out of her voice as she says it, which Bucky had to commend her for. He was an older brother, once upon a time. He gets it, and he knows for damn sure he wouldn't be this nice about it, so he answers plainly, not trying to give excuses for once.
"Yeah, unfortunately that does happen to be me."
"Well, I appreciate the honesty," she says, sounding a little surprised that she got such a straightforward answer, "You're gonna have to sleep on the couch, though. We don't have another room and I'm not sure how I feel about the two of you sharing a bed under my roof."
"I don't think I'd be comfortable with that either, all things considered," Bucky's voice is sincere, and Sarah gives him another warm smile, "The couch is more than generous, really. I appreciate it."
There's the sound of Sam coming in the front door, and he looks at the two of them suspiciously before fully entering the kitchen.
"Wow, it got quiet in here real fast," he comments dryly, "Don't let me stop the two of you from talking shit about me."
"Actually, it's worse than that, Samuel," Sarah teases fondly, "Bucky was defending your honor while you weren't here."
There's silence for a long beat, and Bucky stares at Sam deadpan while knowing he was burning red right to the tips of his ears.
"Isn't that sweet," and Sam somehow makes it seem like it was anything but sweet.
"I thought so, anyway," she replies happily, "Bucky, the linen closet is down that hall, second door on the left, right across from the bathroom. Why don't you get some sheets to make a bed on the couch?"
The request to give the two of them space to talk ( about him , Bucky’s mind adds pointlessly) is clear, and he takes his leave. He retrieves the bedding from the closet, makes up the couch, and purposely lets the low drone of their conversation stay distant and indistinguishable. He gives them more distance by using the bathroom to clean up before he’d retire for the night. By the time he got out, Sam was sitting on the couch, a fresh pillow and neatly folded throw blanket next to him.
“What happened to not wanting to make it weird with my family?” he asks as Bucky sat lightly on the arm of the couch.
“Would it have been less weird for me to just refuse to talk to her?”
“For you? Yeah.”
And that was… fair enough. Bucky was broody and surly and not at all talkative, “I don’t want to be rude to your sister, especially not when I’m crashing on her couch.”
“You never seem to have a problem being rude to me, no matter the circumstances.”
“Sorry, Wilson, I thought that was how we show affection? If it hurts your feelings, I’ll try to be nicer,” Bucky’s being a little shit on purpose. He fully expects the light tap on his shoulder from the back of Sam’s hand, and smiles a little at the contact, “That’s hurtful, I said I was gonna try to be nicer.”
“Mmhm,” Sam’s tone is flat and unamused, but Bucky swears he can see the ghost of a smirk on the man’s face in the low lighting, “Goodnight, Bucky.”
Sam gets up from the couch, but pauses in front of where Bucky is perched, almost like he’s going to say something else. He brings a hand to Bucky’s face instead, cupping his cheek, and Bucky leans into the touch. They share that silent, tender moment, Sam running a thumb along Bucky’s cheekbone. He barely wants to breathe for fear of scaring away the other man with any kind of movement, just wanting to drink in the warmth and feel, thinking maybe the other man is going to kiss him for a split second, then Sam lets his hand fall away and steps away, continuing his path out of the living room.
“Get some sleep, I wanna get started bright and early tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Sam,” he tells the empty room when he hears the lock click on the bathroom door.
Laying out on the bed that’s been made on the couch, Bucky finds it soft and comfortable and unfamiliar all at the same time. He has trouble falling asleep at the best of times, but tonight his head is whirling with the events of the day, the quiet moments that felt stolen and impossible between the two of them out on that boat. Never would he have been able to imagine they’d find themselves here after everything. Eventually he does drift off into a strangely peaceful slumber, dreams full of the steady sound of calm waves lapping at the side of a boat, the slow tip back and forth of an object in water seeming to rock him. It’s just sense memory, but it’s soothing.
In the morning, Bucky wakes to the sound of Sam’s nephews fooling around with the shield, playing at superheroes in battle. He doesn’t mean to scare them away, he isn’t bothered by the two of them fooling around, but they run off when he greets them despite his friendly tone. The sun is barely up when he walks back out to the dock to find Sam working on the boat again, it paints a pretty picture over the water and Bucky doesn’t mind taking a moment to walk slowly and appreciate the view. He doesn’t want to be in a rush to leave this place, but he doesn’t want to intrude at the same time.
Sam is below deck, and Bucky easily lends a hand, he’ll offer his help for as long as he’s here. Then suddenly Sam hands him a wrench, telling him to loosen the bolts and Bucky feels that shift again. His help and presence are no longer being begrudged or reluctantly accepted. It feels huge, just to be asked to help. Bucky knows he’s blowing this out of proportion, but maybe he can have a tiny bubble of hope, just for now. There’s a moment there, it’s so quick and quiet, of shy eye contact, and fixing things doesn’t seem like an impossible fantasy so much anymore.
Not long after, they’re unceremoniously thrown off the repair crew of the boat by Sarah, who tells them they’re messing with things they don’t understand. Bucky likes her more and more every minute, and he gets the feeling that annoys Sam. He hopes it’s the good kind of annoyed, the one that leads to rolling eyes with fond smiles, Sam shaking his head with a softened expression. The two of them start bickering gently as they leave the docks.
“She’s a very mean person,” Sam complains.
“It’s tough love,” Bucky reassures Sam, placing a hand momentarily on the small of the other man's back, then taking it away just as quickly.
They make the steady walk back to the house like that, Sam arguing that if Bucky had just done what he’d told him (Bucky had done near everything Sam had told him to), it wouldn’t have been a problem, Bucky refuting it just to be contrary, the two of them smiling and teasing and happy. When they arrive, Sam takes Bucky by the wrist and leads him to his bedroom. The house is quiet and still and empty outside the two of them, and the kiss Sam places on Bucky’s lips lacks urgency. It’s soft and infatuating, yielding, almost a question. Bucky could cry at it.
“What’s that for?” he asks softly, feeling the soppy smile on his face as Sam breaks away from it for a moment, looking like he’s searching Bucky’s eyes for something.
“For showing up and helping out,” Sam tells him simply, running a hand absentmindedly up and over over the metal plates of Bucky’s arm where he had the sleeve pushed up, following the line of it up and cradling the back of Bucky’s head sweetly, “You didn’t have to do all that, and I really appreciate it.”
“You don’t owe me anything for that, I was more than happy to.”
“I didn’t say anything about owing you, Bucky,” Sam’s voice is quieter as he crowds himself against Bucky once more, slotting a thigh between his own, “Just showing a little appreciation.”
Their lips brush together with Sam’s words, and Bucky wants to press in, sweet and delicate and open, give Sam whatever he wanted. Sam reconnects first, the kisses slow and lazy, thick and honeyed in sensation. He holds Bucky close, moving deliberately, grinding slowly and humming low and deep in his chest. Bucky is able to get his hands under Sam’s shirt, feeling the smooth skin of his back over the ripple of his muscles as he moved, dipping his own hand under the waistband of Bucky’s jeans and groping his ass, nipping at his bottom lip lightly.
A whine escapes Bucky, a spark jutting his hips forward into Sam, he tilts his head back and Sam presses infuriatingly docile open mouthed kisses all along the line of his throat. Sam rearranges their position, with a surprising strength he lifts Bucky to carry him to the bed, laying him down gently. Great care is taken as Sam removes Bucky’s shirts, his jeans, runs his hands over the exposed skin with an adoring attentiveness that almost makes Bucky want to shy away, feel unworthy and corruptive. He doesn’t, though, he stays spread out and still under Sam’s exploring touch. The man presses kisses into the dipped v near Bucky’s hips, up his abdomen, groping at his pecs a bit and flicking his tongue over one of Bucky’s nipples.
“Sam,” he cries softly, arching into that feeling.
“What is it, baby?” comes the reply, Sam’s pleasantly smooth voice washing over as he smirks playfully down at Bucky, and a hunger ignites in Bucky with an intensity that’s almost painful.
He wants to tear the other man’s clothes off, he wants to be held down, pinned into the mattress, he wants Sam to fuck his brains out. He wants Sam to take his time and tease him for hours on end, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. He wants it tender and sweet and deliberate and he wants it frenzied and biting and unforgiving. Bucky reaches out a hand, pulling at the fabric of his shirt, and Sam obliges, pulling it over his head, following suit with the rest until he is stripped down as bare as Bucky.
“Better?” he asks Bucky as he looms over him once more.
“Much,” Bucky answers all breathless, bringing his hands up to hold Sam’s face, leading it gently to his own, opening his mouth eagerly as Sam made the kiss deep and luxurious.
Sam takes his time with Bucky, not sparked by anger or tension, the two of them simply falling into each other in a slow, lazy way. Bucky mirrors this energy, trailing his hands down Sam’s body with intention, palming at the other man’s erection without a sense of immediacy, just pressing contact, dragging skin on skin. He’s rewarded with a groan that reverberates through Sam, who drags Bucky’s lip between his teeth.
A hand reaches to the side, fumbling through a drawer in the nightstand, Sam trying to keep the contact between the two of them as much as possible until he can get his hands on what he’s looking for, ends up spilling half a box of condoms on the floor, but he drops the rest on the mattress, then he pours out some lube onto his hand.
“Alright?” Sam looks into his eyes as he asks, one hand holding up one of Bucky’s thighs, the other leg draped over Sam’s shoulder.
Bucky nods, purposely keeping himself relaxed for Sam, not tensing in anticipation, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.”
Fingers press into Bucky, deliberate and patient, taking him apart piece by piece. It’s all stretch for a while, being worked open all slow and slick dragging in and out, until Sam finally crooks his fingers, aiming for Bucky’s prostate, making him gasp and groan and light up head to toe. Sam plays that on repeat, coaxing keening sounds to spill out of Bucky’s mouth over and over.
“Love to take my time with you,” he says as he removes his fingers, picking up one of the discarded foil wrappers scattered on the edge of the mattress, “Love making sure you feel every little thing, having the time to watch you fall apart.”
Bucky takes the condom from Sam’s hands, tearing the wrapper open and rolling it on Sam’s cock. Sam cracks a smile at that.
“Impatient?” Bucky’s not sure if the look he gives Sam in answer is more pleading or flat-out glare, but it gets a chuckle either way, “Forgot how needy you get for a dick up your ass, Barnes.”
“You just know how to get me to the point of begging too well, I’m not usually…” he trails off as Sam lifts an eyebrow at that confession, expectant, hovering with his tip at Bucky’s entrance.
“What’s that now? You’re only this desperate for me?” Bucky hadn’t meant to blurt all that out, and Sam looks horribly delighted that he did, “You gonna beg for me now? Tell me I’m the only one who can break you like this?”
The hand holding Bucky’s thigh back is so gentle as it travels across his skin, beyond that Sam remains still, watching and waiting for him to say something, ever patient. Bucky wants to be stubborn, he wants to watch Sam get impatient on him for once, but he knows the unlikelihood of that. Sam could wait him out on this front undoubtedly. He tries to wiggle down, get Sam inside him, coax him into movement physically, but he can’t from this angle, he’s have to flip them over.
“Please?” he relents finally, giving Sam what he wants, “You’re right, you’re the only one who gets me like this, I want it so bad. Please .”
“See, there’s a good boy,” Sam tells him gently, finally pushing in slowly, driving it right home.
And the praise and the sensation fills Bucky up so well, a pleasured cry punched out from him fills the air. Sam makes every move incredibly deliberate, making sure to keep telling Bucky how good he is for him, and Bucky in turn begs and begs for more, every other thought driven from his mind but the thought of Sam, filling him all the way, dragging back out. The thrusts take a desperate edge as Bucky’s voice gets more broken, asking for more, harder, faster, fuck Sam that feels so fucking good . He isn’t completely lost, though, keeping the thought that really wants to spill out at bay, the one that says I love you Sam, I love you so goddamn much . It wouldn’t be a lie if it did.
Sam slams into him over and over, aiming for his prostate to drag a litany of ecstatic noises from Bucky, completely overwhelmed. Bucky knows the other man is close, and he wants to get him there, wants to see Sam give himself over to the pleasure completely, Bucky’s moans turn breathy in a way always drives Sam a little wild to hear. Sam’s pace stutters in a tell-tale way, and then he’s spitting into his hand, grabbing Bucky’s dick and pulling him to the edge as well. Even as Sam is finishing, he continues to slam in and stroking Bucky to get him to come while Sam is still inside, working through the aftershocks.
“Come on Barnes, wanna feel you finish,” Sam all but growls.
That drives Bucky over, he gives another cry as he spills over Sam’s hand, shuddering into it, gasping desperately as Sam slows his pace down.
“See, that was real good, baby, you were so good,” Sam’s voice is soft, and Bucky whimpers a bit, Sam still working his sensitive dick. The man leans down and kisses along Bucky’s jaw. He finally lets Bucky go, bringing the hand to his mouth to lick some of Bucky’s mess off it, then presses a lazy, open mouthed kiss on Bucky, making him taste himself on Sam’s tongue. It should be gross, but Bucky doesn’t hate it at all.
Bucky hisses a little at the emptiness when Sam pulls out, neatly knotting up the condom and tossing it in the trash. He lays down next to Bucky on the bed, side by side on their backs, still catching their breath, Sam’s fist lightly resting on Bucky’s shoulder.
“We should take a shower or something, man, you reek,” Sam says, staring at the ceiling, after letting a couple uninterrupted minutes go by.
“Whatever happened to just basking in the afterglow? I’m an old man, I need a damn minute.”
“I don’t have time to just lay around, too much shit to do,” he replies, shaking his head a bit, “Neither do you, by the way. What time was that flight later?”
Bucky lets out a dramatic sigh, then lifts himself up out of the bed, “Alright, you have a point.”
“I’m always right, Bucky, you should remember that,” Sam tells him solemnly, following suit.
“Mhm, of course.”
“Don’t get sarcastic with me. Say it, say ‘you’re always right’! You know I am.”
Bucky scoops their discarded clothes off the floor, then regrets this action as Sam uses the opportunity of Bucky being bent over to give his ass a sharp smack.
“Ah! Okay, you’re always right, Samuel. I should never doubt you.”
“Damn right,” Sam says happily, leading the say to the shower.
When they're all clean and dressed again, Sam picks up the bag that contains the shield, tension reentering his expression, jaw gone tight. He tells Bucky it’s time for him to pick it up again, to get back into fighting shape with the disc. The silent question of if Bucky will help him is evident, as is the answer. Of course he will, and while they’re at it, Bucky is a long way past overdue for a serious apology, so he takes advantage of how secluded it is out here to give that to Sam.
“When Steve told me what he was planning, I don’t think we understood what it meant for a black man to be handed the shield. How could we?” he sees the deep breath Sam takes, arms folded defensively over his chest, Bucky knows all of this should have come sooner, but all he can do is try to make it right now, “I owe you an apology. I’m sorry.”
It’s a start. He hands the shield back to Sam, who takes the offer without hesitation, “Thank you.”
Admitting that he’d had his head in his ass - though maybe not with those words - that the situation with Walker really had nothing to do with Sam, it’s not difficult once Bucky stopped trying to hold onto misguided anger. It’s a relief to apologize for this now, to admit he was wrong for it. The concept of the shield being the last piece of family he had left, because there’s no one else left, and Bucky doesn’t know his place in the world without that tie. He doesn’t quite know where he’s going with this explanation.
“Steve is gone,” Sam reinforces this, and Bucky knows, he knows, “And this might be a surprise, but, it doesn’t matter what Steve thought.”
That one… maybe that one Bucky didn’t know. He sees the point, Bucky has spent all the life he had a say over trying to live up to the standard and expectation set by Steve. No wonder he felt like he’d been drowning. It’s time to give up that ghost.
Sam offers more tough love, skewing the idea of amends Bucky had been working towards. He was right, of course Sam was right. It’s like he’s releasing Bucky’s grip on this thing he thought was his salvation, what he thought was saving him from being fully submerged, and instead showing him he was perfectly capable of swimming to land. He just had to actually do it, even if it was hard.
They clasp hands, pulling in close, and Bucky has to look away from the intensity in Sam’s expression to stop himself from leaning in all the way and kissing the other man. He doesn’t want to undercut the significance of what they just talked about by showing his hand as a dumbstruck asshole helplessly in love. Because that’s exactly what he is. But Bucky has a lot of work to do on himself before he feels like it’s fair to burden Sam with that information.
As Bucky boards the plane later on, he thinks over the twists and turns their relationship has taken over the time as they’ve reconnected, and how he really doesn’t know where the two of them stand still. He does know that given the chance in the future, he’d give his all to make it work.