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Only If For A Night	By : HarlotOhara Category: Marvel Verse Comics > Ultimate Avengers Views: 1110 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers; Marvel does. No money was made off of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Only If For A Night
- 2-Chapter Two
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The Invaders had a commandeered building in Paris for the night, or they call it officially commandeered for the war effort because somehow that feels better than admitting they’re a bunch of burnt out soldiers who broke into a building that had been abandoned by a family trying to flee to the country. It still doesn’t feel right when they go through the medicine cabinets and raid each closet in hopes of blankets, but they ignore that because the home feels better, warmer, and more comfortable than what they have so often. Bucky could have gone without all of that as he sat on a beautiful old horsehair couch, and he snuggled up under his ugly itchy army blanket as the fire place cracked around them. It was safe because the blackout curtains were drawn, and he focused more on that on than even the little he can stomach of Roger’s and Brian’s current theological debate. There’s was only one reason he was still sitting there in his exhausted state, and it was one of the cups of tea that Union Jack is making them.
The cup is warm enough to be hot in his hands when Bucky accepts it from the man, and he ignores how that makes him want to look over to Steve now; Steve who is always hot like a furnace beside him, who is always there. Steve is drawing out plans on a map with a look of pure concentration, silent and duty-minded as he taps the pencil nub against his handsomely shaped mouth. Despite what his perfectly taken blue eyes seem to imply, Steve is not writing to a sweetheart back at home like Toro is. Steve is never writing to a sweetheart; he never shows much interest in the girls that fawn over him and that was what had made Bucky assume. That, the year of art school, and the half finished drawings of naked men he found in Captain America’s personal sketches made him assume. Bucky was just starting to get used to that warmth in his chest he felt when he thought of the man, the warmth he felt in Steve’s arm wrapping around him and pulling him tight when they slept. It was so safe, so inviting, and so different than what he had assumed.
It had been almost like a hard slap to his face when Steve told him yes and then so quickly told him no. “I’m way too old for you.” Steve had told his partner, as they huddled down in the dirt beside each other and then a day later, when it was Bucky stitching up the wounds Steve had gotten from crawling under barbed-wire, “I love you, but it would just be a perversion of my authority.” Then the next day, wrapped so tightly together under their blankets, huddling close to the warmth that Steve gave off like a fire that kept the night from overtaking them he had spoken again. Steve’s breathing had hitched then, like he wanted to say otherwise, but he knew what his part in the war required. “Maybe when the war is over…maybe then, Bucky. You probably will have forgotten me by then though, and settled down with a dame. You’re gonna out-grow this; not like me.” He had promised his friend.
Bucky didn’t think he would ever forget Steve, no matter how long he’d have to wait for him. He didn’t think he’d ‘out grow’ these feelings. He was a good soldier though, and he knew what his unspoken command from the captain was; let it go. Bucky had only brought it up the one time, but he supposed it was different to be the one to bring it up than to be the one who was caught being different. Steve wanted his sidekick to move on, to try out women, to be normal and Steve was clearly trying his best to do the same with the pretty blond Résistance fighter. Bucky had seen how they met eyes like they were making love and how she let her hand linger just a little too long on his; but Bucky didn’t fault her for her love. Bucky just took it like he didn’t care and grinned that fake propaganda grin when the rest of the Invaders ribbed him about not wanting a step-mother; no, he wasn’t like Tom. Bucky couldn’t think of Captain America as just a father figure, not the way that Tom thought of Jim. Steve still thought of him as a kid though, and he swallowed the tea fast enough to let it burn his throat when he thought of that.
“Papi!” Tom was saying then to some teasing and it knocked Bucky out of his trance as the boy came over to drop on the side of the chair that Jim was sitting in, casual and relaxed with him like nothing could ever be wrong. Tom was showing his father some old letter he was trying to respond to, and he wasn’t very good at reading always. He needed help with words when the letters were tightly spaced and left too many options, something Jim now helped him with deciphering. It hurt a little bit to see how close the two were like that, with Tom almost ready to fall into the other torch’s lap he was so close. It was only because if Bucky hadn’t been so god-damned stupid, he might be sitting like that by Steve right now. Tom seemed pleased by whatever it had turned out to be in the letter, and he went off to claim a bed with great authority in knowing that he’d be followed quickly by at least two Invaders wanting to claim some of his heat.
Bucky thought he might take a chance with Tom instead of Steve that night, and he stretched then and stood up. He put his cup down on the heavy walnut coffee table and walked into the hall to take a break from the closeness of the night and be by himself for a moment before bed, maybe say a prayer even incase God still listened. He slid down to rest his head against his knees, but before his mind could free up a little his heart ached with the sound of the change in the topic that came up after the sidekicks had left. “I don’t know why both of you insist on bringing boys to fight a man’s war.” Brian was telling them, and Steve might have well have been agreeing with him from the lack of commitment in the words. “It’s to inspire the youth of America.” He was trying to justify, and Bucky could imagine the pain in his friend’s eyes when Roger backed up Brian. “So something like the Yankee version of the Hitler Youth?” He suggested, and Namor laughed either at the comparison, or more likely at Steve’s obvious grief.
“It’s not like that, and you know it. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t compare our sidekicks to some damned brainwashed brats.” Jim’s voice said sharply before the captain could answer the question, and he stood up and left the room then with frustration. Namor was calling after him, but what was said after that didn’t really matter, because Bucky was looking up right into Jim’s shocking eyes with tears he was trying to blink away before the man would notice. There was no merciful God for him that night, however, and the torch looked concerned as he knelt down in front of the boy slowly. Jim used his powers to run an overly hot finger over smooth cheeks to dry the tears; sweeter and gentler than he should have been. “What’s wrong?” He asked softly.
Bucky tried to shake his head to dismiss the words before he fled from the soothing tone; he wasn’t sure he could take that level of care when he was loath to explain his grief. Fate wasn’t on his side that night, however, because he picked the wrong bedroom to enter; he was alone and without Toro to protect him from continuing inquiries. Jim followed him with the persistence of his nature, and he wrapped his arms around the boy silently when Bucky met his eyes with a look of shame. He looked lost, ashamed, and nothing like the confident sniper that he was. “I’m a queer.” Bucky told Jim mutedly, and Jim’s arms wrapped tighter around him instead of pushing him away as he’d expected. “I tried hard not to be, but…but…Steve is…he’s my hero.” Bucky was justifying, and he didn’t know why he kept telling the torch those things. “He’s not just my hero…he’s…he’s Captain America. He doesn’t…he doesn’t do things wrong like that.”
If Bucky could ever remember a time in the past, even as a child that he had blubbered and whimpered and cried like this, he couldn’t name it. Nothing had felt like this when he had been hurt before; nothing had been so overwhelming with grief. He closed his eyes when Jim lifted him up as if he was as light as a feather and moved him to snuggle in his lap, holding him close like a child. Jim was just as warm as Steve was, and he was stroking his hair in that same soothing way that his father never had, but both of the heroes seemed to think was comforting. Steve had used these same motions before after he had torn his sidekick apart over getting in trouble, but Bucky hadn’t been crying so hard then. He had sniffled in shame for disappointing the partner he was so lucky to have, but now the soothing motion just seemed to reinforce that he had really messed up and that none of that was ever going to happen again.
“He probably hates me for it.” Bucky said, and he was ashamed of the amount of self-pity in his tone that came out with that statement. Jim made a low sound in his throat to disagree, letting his silver-grey eyes take in the image of the boy cuddled up on his lap, young and lost. He was the same size as Tom, and he was the same soft weight there against his lap, with his neat blue shorts riding up his legs from the pose of his knees drawing up to his chest. The costume called to mind his youth almost as much as the one arm that was wrapped desperately around the torch’s shoulders, yet not nearly as much as the hand that wiped away his hot tears with a tremble to them. How many times had he seen his own sidekick make that motion when they had fought and Tom didn’t want Jim to know he had hurt his feelings? All those times that Jim had argued with him, and just wanted everything to be right because he was supposed to just know how to be a father, and Tom disobeying him didn’t reinforce that. Every time that Jim saw that motion, he hated himself.
“I don’t think he does.” Jim said softly with a sureness that he had never felt so strongly when it came to judging other people’s emotions and motivations. He moved his hand from Bucky’s soft auburn hair to run down the boy’s back soothingly. There was a small sniffle from Bucky in response as he tried to hide the tears that seemed to refuse to stop. “I think that Steve is scared of his feeling for you.” Jim said, because he was a lot sharper than people might have given him credit for; he saw the heartfelt looks that the captain gave Bucky when the younger man wasn’t looking. It wasn’t hate that made him deny his partner’s advances, any more than it was hate that kept Jim from telling Tom the truth about the markedly unpaternal feelings he was starting to have for him. It was both shame at the failing and the knowledge that to act on all of those feelings would be an abuse of power and a perversion of trust. Steve was Bucky’s hero, his mentor, his savior and he knew it better than anyone when he saw the adoration in his sidekick’s eyes and heard the desperate need for approval in his tone.
“He knows you’re not a little boy, Bucky, but he also knows that he can’t be your lover and your mentor at the same time.” Jim told him softly and as simply as he could because there was no reason to make this more difficult and it was easy enough to explain when he was suffering with those thoughts every time that Tom snuggled against him at night as he fell asleep. The soft sniffle that came from Bucky before he spoke again made Jim hold him tighter, and the words made his heart ache even more. “But why not?” Bucky asked him softly, and he could hear the tears in his voice reflecting the same hurt that Jim felt every time he asked himself the same question. “Because it’s not right, Bucky. He’d be taking advantage of your trust because you wouldn’t be able to see him the same way the average person does; you’d believe he was right even when he was wrong.”
Bucky sobbed finally; it just didn’t make any sense to him. “But what’s so wrong about that?” He begged to know, begged desperately as if he were asking Steve himself and Jim could tell him every last thing that was so wrong about it, but he doesn’t. Instead, Jim helped Bucky unfasten his jacket and throws it across the room to land on a dresser drawer. The motion seems to prompt the boy and he does the same with his boots, working them off and dropping them to the side of the bed with a soft sniffle. Jim knows the conversation isn’t forgotten as Bucky fumbles to take off his belt and strip down to just his undershirt and shorts. It’s not often that they sleep this way, and even though its comfortable as he slides down against the bed, Bucky can’t help but feel vulnerable to be stripped of the power of his costume’s image.
Jim puts Bucky in the middle of the bed like a child he wants to keep safe from the monsters under the bed, and he holds him close as he begins to try to explain why exactly it’s so wrong to not be able to see a flaw in a person. Jim heats himself up just enough to keep Bucky, and whoever will join them later, perfectly warm under the blankets on the bed. The boy makes a soft noise as he had started to shiver with the mixture of his body reacting to his break down, and his wool costume being taken away. Jim speaks to him soothingly, trying to show that he’s still open to talk to him if that’s what he wants and that he hasn’t cut him off over some perceived wrong. None of that matters though, because Bucky snuggles back into his hold and takes Jim’s hand in his own as he listens, but he doesn’t really hear the words. They don’t matter, all that matters is how bad he feels, how impossibly bad he feels and that someone is trying to make it better. It would be the last time Bucky would allow himself to fall asleep with tears still staining his cheeks.
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Only If For A Night