[ His hesitation annoys him. It's easy enough to say well the renovations on my apartment are done. It's a simple English sentence, unambiguous, it's not even particularly negative. He's not trying to carry someone's body back across a minefield, he's not even storming a beach. Somehow, both other options seem more appealing than having to say I don't know if I want to leave. ]
They fixed my apartment. Finally.
[ His feet want to shift. They keep mercifully still. ]
Hey, that's great. Way they were going, I was afraid they were gonna make you move in December.
[Sam smiles, despite the little sinking disappointment in his chest. It had been inevitable, they had to finish eventually, and it had already taken long enough. But why doesn't Steve look happy about it?
The omelettes are done, and Sam transfers them to plates before they get overcooked, but then he sets them aside and crosses to lean against the counter next to Steve, because he knows sometimes it's easier for him to talk when they're not looking at each other.]
[ December — Christmas. Sam hasn't invited him (yet), but Steve knows if he'd stayed that long he'd be meeting the family, because Sam's just that kind of guy. Not wanting to leave him out in the cold. ]
[ He's staring at his feet, shored up against some invisible, untouchable foe. Everything really important of his is here, and he's gotten used to it. Steve likes this too much to let go of it because of this, just like that. ]
I don't know.
[ He says it a little helplessly, with a lift of a shoulder. ]
[This is Steve at his finest, Sam thinks, unable to prevent the little affectionate quirk of his lips. He scoops up the plates and takes them to the table, adds the bacon that had been keeping warm on the counter, pours the coffees into real mugs, their usual mugs, and gives Steve a prod in the side.]
Go on, sit your sweaty ass. At least you can eat my omelette while it's hot.
[It's routine, the gentle sniping, the mothering. Sam does it to Steve more often, but Steve's returned the favor more than once.]
[ Like a mother hen, Natasha would say, with her own brand of fondness. Steve hasn't seen her in a while, though she texts. They're still working on — whatever they've got. ]
All right, all right, I'm moving.
[ He goes along with it good-naturedly, having been at the other side of this equation. But he doesn't want Sam trying to help him out with it, he wants to be able to say, with finality, that this is a place that's been easier for him to be in for a single moment than the last two years. Sam deserves that, plainly offered, without the familiar and gentle push and pull they have. ]
[Sam makes good omelettes, if he does say so himself, and he'd put some mushrooms and green onions in them, plus the last of the spinach. Not much of that. Steve needs the protein after running for as long as he's been running, and Sam could use it himself. Especially if they're in for the kind of conversation that starts out like this.]
[ He does make good omelette. Steve passes over the coffee cup — the barista knows them. Sweet girl, college student. Always draws a little shield for him on top, so his name isn't blazed out for the entire world to look at early in the morning. ]
A few things. You know what, it's Saturday, and it's still early, you want to hit the farmer's market this time? The good one, with the actual farmers, not so much with the handmade beeswax candles.
[Sam grins at the little shield. Being a superhero is a certain kind of celebrity, and it's sweet of her to keep their early morning coffee runs under her hat. They tip well, that has to help.]
[Sam nods and pulls out his phone to start making a list.]
We'll get some of that fancy-ass milk in the glass bottles if you promise not to drink it all. ...I guess we'll have to meet up there next time, you'll be back in your own place.
[This time Steve's already looking right at him, there's just no way for him to hide the way his shoulders slump a little at the idea.]
[ It's like a soundless punch to the gut. Steve puts down the coffee cup and picks at his food, eating it slowly. His enthusiasm isn't because of the taste, Sam's omelettes or pancakes rank among his preferred breakfast meals. The idea had been distasteful in the morning, and now it feels impossible. In a way that doesn't make him immediately want to surmount it. ]
[ He puts down the fork. Time stretches only because Steve isn't indecisive in the least, that the words are there but he has to figure out what to say, how, and he doesn't want to give an inch to anything that could hurt Sam. ]
I don't want to impose.
[ Isn't that the whole story of the past few months? I don't want to impose. He sleeps in Sam's guest room, sits with him in his room, the place has acquired character to be the home of two people and not just a guy who's letting his buddy crash. They're in perfect synchronicity, shower, chores, everything divided up. ]
[You've never imposed almost makes it out, but Sam holds it back and lets Steve talk. Steve's never wanted to be a burden, he's never wanted Sam to feel obligated to help. The fact that Sam has never once felt that way doesn't matter so much.]
I think you'd be surprised how easy it is for me to be kind to you, Steve.
[He looks down at the table, then over to the counter, at the Tupperware box of brownies all ready for a trip to the VA, and the few they set aside to have for dessert tonight.
Now that Steve has the opportunity to stop imposing, he doesn't want to, and he has no idea how to ask. He swallows back a spike of nervousness and looks up at Steve again.]
[ Another gut punch, not painful, just realising what's being given to him. Buck didn't just walk into his life and stick around from day one, Steve pushed him out. He was persistent, patient, and letting him in was the best decision Steve ever made. You'd be surprised how easy it is — He wouldn't be. He never apologised for being hard-headed, and about as easy to stop as continental drift. None of those things about him have ever bothered Sam, who doesn't weather them with patience, but takes up the missing place and walks with him. ]
What if I did?
[ What if he did a lot more than that, too? He swallows. ]
You ever realize you only have a poker face when you're actually playing poker?
[It's a glib comment tossed out there to hide the way Sam's heart is suddenly going about twice as fast as before. He'd had his eyes on Steve's throat in that moment—just because they go there sometimes, it's hard to look away from Steve anyway, let alone after a run when he's still a little slick—and he hadn't missed that hard swallow, like there's more than just sticking around.
It's incredible that Sam's hand isn't shaking when he moves it an extra few inches and sets it over Steve's.]
[ What's he going to do? He doesn't withdraw his hand, in fact, he realised he's taken Sam's, at once, comfortably holding it. Sam's heart is as loud as his own, and somehow that's a little settling, knowing there's something they both have to protect. But even like this, he has the wild, crazy idea to jump. ]
[He's quieter now and it comes out a little breathless. He's trying to keep it all inside, the way he's kept everything inside for months, but he's rapidly losing that battle now. Sam twists his hand and laces their fingers, marveling again at how warm he always is, how solid.]
[ It's a gentle correction, the planting of a tree by the river of truth. He puts his shield down here. He gets to be himself. ]
[ And in that very moment the decision becomes blissfully clear. From staring at the subject line to the words of a message, to trying to force out the words, treading so carefully, the path from here to the end opens up, and all Steve has to do is walk it. He hasn't even showered, hasn't finished his meal, but all of that folds and fades in what he wants to do. ]
[ Steve stands, tugging Sam once, deliberate, allowing no space between them. His arm curls around him, keeping him there. Just looking at him for a moment, ignoring his heart going a mile a minute. ]
I smell. But I should have done this a long time ago.
[ A little apologetic, but he can apologise for it with the kiss, leaning in to capture Sam completely. ]
[If Steve hadn't acted, Sam had been on the verge of it himself, but it's still a shock when Steve pulls him into his arms so suddenly. He has a moment to look openly surprised, hopeful, before Steve kisses him and everything goes quiet.
The hell if Steve thinks it makes a difference that he hasn't showered. Sam presses up against him as close as he can, curls his fingers around the nape of Steve's neck, and kisses back, pours himself into it, the months of sidelong looks and little aches and how much he wants this, Steve has to know.]
[ Steve realises — like being caught under a waterfall — and feels a little rueful for it. Time lost, that's never settled well on him. He already slept for seventy years in an iceberg, months, minutes, he hates to waste. ]
[ But Sam's warm against him, steady, inviting, and he returns the kiss as hungrily, as sweetly. Steve's kissed all of three people in his life and it's only this that's been deliberate, for all his clumsiness he hopes the strength of his conviction comes through. ]
[It feels like it goes on forever and that he needs to pull away to breathe almost as soon as it starts, but when Sam does lift his head to take a breath, he stays close, fingers in Steve's hair and his other arm wrapped firmly around Steve's waist, as if he could keep him there if Steve decided to move. But he doesn't think Steve's gonna move.]
Damn. I coulda been doing that this whole time? I hope you know we got a lot of catching up to do.
[He only wishes that came out smooth, like a player, and not breathless and sappy, but it's definitely more on the breathless-and-sappy side. But he's got Steve's ridiculously firm arm around his waist, and everything else about him is just as ridiculously firm as Sam had always imagined, he's allowed.]
Yeah, [ he murmurs, to say it against Sam's mouth, ] Sorry about that.
[ Smooth enough. Steve's body betrays him: he feels a little like he can't breathe, but he's still standing up. Still close to Sam. ]
Do you uh — want to finish breakfast and join me in the shower?
[ Is that moving too fast? He's not sure. He feels plenty comfortable changing around Sam, it's the Army in them. Being close to him isn't new, being close to him like this feels exhilarating, like jumping, falling without a parachute. ]
[It's possible that Sam's brain actually whites out for a second or two with that invitation. He'd be lying if he hadn't imagined climbing in there and making his feelings known when he'd heard the shower running, but despite his libido and how much he wants to say god yes right now, he takes a breath to steady himself.]
I really do, let me start with that, in fact the hell with breakfast, but.
[His fingers cup Steve's impossible jaw and he skates his thumb along Steve's cheek.]
I'm not about doing anything until you're ready. Don't get me wrong, I would like nothing more than getting my hands on you. But you don't need to rush anything because you think you kept me waiting. I kept you waiting just as long. ...how long ago should you have done that, by the way?
[ Steve leans into it at once, watching Sam intently. ]
I don't know. Maybe that morning we had fresh strawberries with the pancakes.
[ Maybe even before then. Steve doesn't know, it feels like Sam was always there, will always be here, even as Steve knows with clarity what life was like before him, and what life might be like if he's not there. ]
I don't know, [ he offers, honestly, ] what do you want? Should we go out for a candlelit dinner?
[ People in the War never took long, and people in this century don't, either. But all of this missed Steve by, having always had Buck arrange dates, and after... after there wasn't time or inclination. Peggy was ill by the time he awoke, and there wasn't anything there but regret. Baby steps, he knows, but Steve wouldn't be Steve if he didn't barrel through (or try to) at least a solid ninety percent of what was in front of him. ]
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They fixed my apartment. Finally.
[ His feet want to shift. They keep mercifully still. ]
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[Sam smiles, despite the little sinking disappointment in his chest. It had been inevitable, they had to finish eventually, and it had already taken long enough. But why doesn't Steve look happy about it?
The omelettes are done, and Sam transfers them to plates before they get overcooked, but then he sets them aside and crosses to lean against the counter next to Steve, because he knows sometimes it's easier for him to talk when they're not looking at each other.]
...so what's really on your mind, Steve?
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[ He's staring at his feet, shored up against some invisible, untouchable foe. Everything really important of his is here, and he's gotten used to it. Steve likes this too much to let go of it because of this, just like that. ]
I don't know.
[ He says it a little helplessly, with a lift of a shoulder. ]
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Go on, sit your sweaty ass. At least you can eat my omelette while it's hot.
[It's routine, the gentle sniping, the mothering. Sam does it to Steve more often, but Steve's returned the favor more than once.]
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All right, all right, I'm moving.
[ He goes along with it good-naturedly, having been at the other side of this equation. But he doesn't want Sam trying to help him out with it, he wants to be able to say, with finality, that this is a place that's been easier for him to be in for a single moment than the last two years. Sam deserves that, plainly offered, without the familiar and gentle push and pull they have. ]
Thanks.
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Yeah, you're welcome. We're out of spinach.
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I'll get some later. Do we need anything else?
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[Sam grins at the little shield. Being a superhero is a certain kind of celebrity, and it's sweet of her to keep their early morning coffee runs under her hat. They tip well, that has to help.]
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Sure.
[ Getting some air, walking around, organic produce, that'd be a good way to spend a Saturday. ]
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We'll get some of that fancy-ass milk in the glass bottles if you promise not to drink it all. ...I guess we'll have to meet up there next time, you'll be back in your own place.
[This time Steve's already looking right at him, there's just no way for him to hide the way his shoulders slump a little at the idea.]
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What, I'm not staying over for movie night?
[ He tries for a pleasant jab. ]
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[Sam keeps eating, but he doesn't miss that Steve has slowed down, that he's just picking at breakfast now, and breakfast is a favorite of his.
He sets his fork down and stretches a hand across the table, flattened, palm down. It's as close as he can come to reaching for Steve's hand.]
Hey. Steve. Did something happen?
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I don't want to impose.
[ Isn't that the whole story of the past few months? I don't want to impose. He sleeps in Sam's guest room, sits with him in his room, the place has acquired character to be the home of two people and not just a guy who's letting his buddy crash. They're in perfect synchronicity, shower, chores, everything divided up. ]
You've been nothing but kind to me, Sam.
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I think you'd be surprised how easy it is for me to be kind to you, Steve.
[He looks down at the table, then over to the counter, at the Tupperware box of brownies all ready for a trip to the VA, and the few they set aside to have for dessert tonight.
Now that Steve has the opportunity to stop imposing, he doesn't want to, and he has no idea how to ask. He swallows back a spike of nervousness and looks up at Steve again.]
What if you stayed?
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What if I did?
[ What if he did a lot more than that, too? He swallows. ]
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[It's a glib comment tossed out there to hide the way Sam's heart is suddenly going about twice as fast as before. He'd had his eyes on Steve's throat in that moment—just because they go there sometimes, it's hard to look away from Steve anyway, let alone after a run when he's still a little slick—and he hadn't missed that hard swallow, like there's more than just sticking around.
It's incredible that Sam's hand isn't shaking when he moves it an extra few inches and sets it over Steve's.]
Yeah. What if you did?
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[ What's he going to do? He doesn't withdraw his hand, in fact, he realised he's taken Sam's, at once, comfortably holding it. Sam's heart is as loud as his own, and somehow that's a little settling, knowing there's something they both have to protect. But even like this, he has the wild, crazy idea to jump. ]
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[He's quieter now and it comes out a little breathless. He's trying to keep it all inside, the way he's kept everything inside for months, but he's rapidly losing that battle now. Sam twists his hand and laces their fingers, marveling again at how warm he always is, how solid.]
Steve. Stay. I'm already missing you.
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[ It's a gentle correction, the planting of a tree by the river of truth. He puts his shield down here. He gets to be himself. ]
[ And in that very moment the decision becomes blissfully clear. From staring at the subject line to the words of a message, to trying to force out the words, treading so carefully, the path from here to the end opens up, and all Steve has to do is walk it. He hasn't even showered, hasn't finished his meal, but all of that folds and fades in what he wants to do. ]
[ Steve stands, tugging Sam once, deliberate, allowing no space between them. His arm curls around him, keeping him there. Just looking at him for a moment, ignoring his heart going a mile a minute. ]
I smell. But I should have done this a long time ago.
[ A little apologetic, but he can apologise for it with the kiss, leaning in to capture Sam completely. ]
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The hell if Steve thinks it makes a difference that he hasn't showered. Sam presses up against him as close as he can, curls his fingers around the nape of Steve's neck, and kisses back, pours himself into it, the months of sidelong looks and little aches and how much he wants this, Steve has to know.]
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[ But Sam's warm against him, steady, inviting, and he returns the kiss as hungrily, as sweetly. Steve's kissed all of three people in his life and it's only this that's been deliberate, for all his clumsiness he hopes the strength of his conviction comes through. ]
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Damn. I coulda been doing that this whole time? I hope you know we got a lot of catching up to do.
[He only wishes that came out smooth, like a player, and not breathless and sappy, but it's definitely more on the breathless-and-sappy side. But he's got Steve's ridiculously firm arm around his waist, and everything else about him is just as ridiculously firm as Sam had always imagined, he's allowed.]
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[ Smooth enough. Steve's body betrays him: he feels a little like he can't breathe, but he's still standing up. Still close to Sam. ]
Do you uh — want to finish breakfast and join me in the shower?
[ Is that moving too fast? He's not sure. He feels plenty comfortable changing around Sam, it's the Army in them. Being close to him isn't new, being close to him like this feels exhilarating, like jumping, falling without a parachute. ]
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I really do, let me start with that, in fact the hell with breakfast, but.
[His fingers cup Steve's impossible jaw and he skates his thumb along Steve's cheek.]
I'm not about doing anything until you're ready. Don't get me wrong, I would like nothing more than getting my hands on you. But you don't need to rush anything because you think you kept me waiting. I kept you waiting just as long. ...how long ago should you have done that, by the way?
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I don't know. Maybe that morning we had fresh strawberries with the pancakes.
[ Maybe even before then. Steve doesn't know, it feels like Sam was always there, will always be here, even as Steve knows with clarity what life was like before him, and what life might be like if he's not there. ]
I don't know, [ he offers, honestly, ] what do you want? Should we go out for a candlelit dinner?
[ People in the War never took long, and people in this century don't, either. But all of this missed Steve by, having always had Buck arrange dates, and after... after there wasn't time or inclination. Peggy was ill by the time he awoke, and there wasn't anything there but regret. Baby steps, he knows, but Steve wouldn't be Steve if he didn't barrel through (or try to) at least a solid ninety percent of what was in front of him. ]
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