And that's why Bucky wasn't accusing him, when he said that Steve hadn't been there. He knew that he'd have wanted to be, more than anything, and he knew the choice Steve had made. The lives of millions against the lives of two.
Or three, though Steve hadn't known that, at the time. Bucky fully realized that, were Steve faced with that choice again, now, knowing what he did, he'd have made it again, anyway. Because some things were more important. Because, whatever chance there was at happiness, knowing it was at the cost of millions of innocents who never had a chance to protect themselves? Steve Rogers could never live with that. It would eat him on the inside until there was only a husk of the man Bucky cared for left, and even that would...
He didn't know. But he knew it had been the only choice Steve could have taken, and the only choice he could still take.
Bucky looked up in the blue blue eyes, clouded with truth, and anger, and suppressing hurt for Bucky's sake, and--
He probably wouldn't have done it if he wasn't already tired, and the firmness hadn't worked like cutting his strings. He didn't stagger, but only because Steve was already there for him. Instead, he stepped closer and wrapped his arm around Steve, and squeezed, tucking his head against the blond's shoulder.
"Sir, yes, sir!" Came out muffled against Steve's shirt, and sort of warbling, but it was his attempt at a joke when he really... didn't have anything left to power it with.
They weren't fine. Not yet. But Steve didn't hate him over it, and that was like. Like the fucking sun shining through the storm clouds, so he held on. Maybe only for a moment, but he didn't have the right words to tell Steve how much that meant to him. Instead of trying, and making it worse, he clung.
no subject
Or three, though Steve hadn't known that, at the time. Bucky fully realized that, were Steve faced with that choice again, now, knowing what he did, he'd have made it again, anyway. Because some things were more important. Because, whatever chance there was at happiness, knowing it was at the cost of millions of innocents who never had a chance to protect themselves? Steve Rogers could never live with that. It would eat him on the inside until there was only a husk of the man Bucky cared for left, and even that would...
He didn't know. But he knew it had been the only choice Steve could have taken, and the only choice he could still take.
Bucky looked up in the blue blue eyes, clouded with truth, and anger, and suppressing hurt for Bucky's sake, and--
He probably wouldn't have done it if he wasn't already tired, and the firmness hadn't worked like cutting his strings. He didn't stagger, but only because Steve was already there for him. Instead, he stepped closer and wrapped his arm around Steve, and squeezed, tucking his head against the blond's shoulder.
"Sir, yes, sir!" Came out muffled against Steve's shirt, and sort of warbling, but it was his attempt at a joke when he really... didn't have anything left to power it with.
They weren't fine. Not yet. But Steve didn't hate him over it, and that was like. Like the fucking sun shining through the storm clouds, so he held on. Maybe only for a moment, but he didn't have the right words to tell Steve how much that meant to him. Instead of trying, and making it worse, he clung.