#pining!

Chapter One: Dramatic

“Oh my God, he’s doing it!”

Steve looks over to see you standing in a widening puddle of coffee, staring at your phone. Your left hand is in a frozen claw, the paper cup with its ‘thank you for being a Lion!’ university branding on it on its side at your feet. He sprints over to grab a roll of paper towels from the nearby cupboard, stripping a bunch of sheets off in a line and tossing it over to start soaking up the brew.

“Shoot, Steve, I’m sorry,” you choke out.

His heart clenches in his chest at the look on your face. “Bad news from home?” he asks, crouching down to clean more of the spill. “Don’t move,” he adds, internally chastising himself for nearly adding an endearment. He shouldn’t complicate the friendship at a time like this.

“Hilariously, yes and no,” you say with a shaky laugh, reaching down to feel for wetness along your pantlegs. “Someone’s just auctioning off The Blue Diamond of Alqualondë. My Holy Grail poem.”

“A poem? Is that possible?” Steve offers some paper towels, colliding with you as you start to crouch. You fall against him with a sound of amused embarrassment. With great care, he ends up lifting you up as he shifts to a stand so you don’t end up covered in floor coffee.

Time stops for a few seconds as the two of you look at each other. He lifts his eyebrows in a silent ‘are you okay’ that’s answered by a sheepish nod. Steve’s heart is pounding so loudly he’s certain you can hear it. To cover for that, he clears his throat and takes one large step, clearing the mess.

“I’ll set you down. Ready?”

“If you insist,” you joke, and he follows through with a wry smile of his own. As usual, you’ve used the unexpected to put him at ease.

“I smell a coffee cup throwing fight, Professor Caesura!” Professor Sunen sings from the doorway. “Someone remind me where the surveillance cameras are as I prepare my weapon!”

“Sorry to disappoint, Kingo,” you tell him as you sop up the last of the spilled liquid. “Good old-fashioned shocked cup drop.”

“Well that isn’t much of a narrative,” the acting professor frowns.

“Gotta jet, office hours,” Steve says, catching a threatening look from you not to mention the poem. He does a ‘zipped lip’ motion behind Professor Sunen’s back and jogs off toward his office.

When Steve surfaces for air 90 minutes and six students later, there’s a sticky note on his door.

Thx babe. Tell you the rest at lunch? Professor ‘Says’

He knows you don’t mean anything when you use ‘babe,’ but his tender heart enjoys seeing it all the same. Coach Wilson likes to tease him about the friend zone, asking Steve how long before he’ll attempt to score.

Neither of you get to take a lunch. A Freshman in ‘Intro to Adulting’ ends up stopping by in tears, and when Steve sends you his apologies, you respond back that you’ve had to step in for one of your fellow English Department profs.

It’s his habit on evening class nights to walk students to their cars. You sometimes join him and break off when you get close to your own vehicle, but tonight you stick around, inexpertly hiding multiple yawns.

“Give me your keys, I’m driving you home,” Steve decides.

“And what? Walk back here at midnight?” you splutter.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you’re safe to drive.”

Defeated, you hand over your keys. “This means I get to bore you with news about the poem, then.” When he holds the door open for you, you add, “I’m also going to feed you spaghetti leftovers.”

“Okay, not to complain about the way you clearly love my cooking, but did you listen to any of that?” you laugh.

Steve doesn’t reply that he always listens to you. “Pablo Neruda is your favorite poet,” he recites. “After Howard Stark was murdered, his son went through his things and found a poem Neruda gave him when Stark spoke at the UN in the 70s—”

“—an unreleased poem,” you interrupt. “Folded up in his wallet. And the jerk didn’t let anyone see it!”

“It has his father’s blood on it, Caes!”

“He could have taken a picture and kept the original!” You stand up, gathering the dishes roughly. “Now that SHIELD’s making news again, Stark’s auctioning off all of his dad’s stuff from that night, including the poem. With a secrecy stipulation! I’m so mad I could—” you break off, fuming.

Steve had gotten up to help, but now he reaches over and takes the stack of dishes, striding into the kitchen so you don’t see his face. The mention of SHIELD makes his stomach twist as always, but this time, his memories aren’t as full of regret and self-recrimination as they once were.

Before he can stop himself, he says, “What if we could figure out a way to force Stark to release it?”

The next few days are too hectic to focus on anything but work, with Steve helping out with Homecoming activities and you attending a conference away from NYC. News articles about the SHIELD/HYDRA scandal are hard to ignore, given his insider knowledge about the agency’s mistakes. SHIELD had spent more time hiding a gravely injured James Barnes than keeping him safe in the first place.

Steve had been told to sit down, shut up, and accept the casualty.

He’d quit instead.

The next year and a half was spent searching for Bucky. His ‘severance’ after quitting had been a full ride to college, an expense ‘well worth ridding the team of a goody two-shoes,’ according to one former colleague. He’d studied on airplanes, strained to read textbooks by streetlamp doing midnight surveillance, and ran up his phone bill with long distance calls. His grades and his mental health suffered, right up until he was given a note by the waitress at his favorite diner.

Five years. Take care of Sarah

Every mineral in his body had solidified reading the first line, a thousand tiny cuts healed by the sentiment in the second. It was their code, his best friend’s way of ordering him to love himself the way Steve’s mother always had. No one else could have known.

Five years later he took the whole day off and spent all afternoon sitting in the darkest corner of the diner. At five PM, a lean, leather-clad man had slid into the booth across from him and set both hands flat on the table. One flesh, one metal.

His hug hadn’t changed.

Bucky leads an international mercenary team, but they’ve stayed in touch. As a result he’s the one who reaches out first, and the longer between visits, the more Steve worries. They’re at five months now, so he’s strangely relieved when footage of Barnes appears in a news report about SHIELD.

It’s a ‘chase down’ interview, and Bucky glares down the camera, lips moving as the voiceover covers his profanity. Steve reaches for the phone before the segment is over.

They meet ninety minutes later at the diner, both tense thanks to the news coverage. Bucky’s team is injured and off for a while; he only relaxes once the waitress practically forces them to take a couple of pieces of pie. It’s obvious that the woman thinks Bucky can do no wrong.

That’s not true anymore. The team used to call Steve their conscience, and it’s that long-dormant role that has him asking something he’d long avoided.

“Tell me how bad it got. After you— After I left.”

“You really want me to answer that?” Bucky says, voice muffled by chewing.

Steve takes in a deep breath and holds it. “HYDRA?”

Bucky swallows. “Not willingly.”

Pain takes root in Steve’s chest, and it isn’t until Barnes bops him on the side of his head that he starts breathing again.

“Stop mentally tying up my enemies,” he says, tipping back the last of his milkshake and grinning at Steve with a whipped cream mustache. “How’ve you been, Professor?”

Steve obliges, and as ever, his best friend knows his weak spots.

“You’re in love with her. Ask her out.”

“She’s my friend, Buck.”

“Good. Those relationships last longer.”

“What do I have to do to get you to drop this? I don’t think you should eat anything else,” Steve sighs.

“Find me something to do,” Bucky says, smug and comfortable. It has an incredible healing effect on Steve’s insides, enough that he blurts out the stupid, crazy idea he’d been stewing over for days.

Steve’s heart is full. Five years ago he was lost and lonely in the middle of Bucky’s multi-year exile, and now he’s watching you and his best friend huddle over blueprints to the Starks’ New York mansion.

“I can’t believe you even have those,” he tells Bucky as he dries his hands with a dishtowel.

“Steven Grant Rogers, did you do the dishes?” you fret.

“It’s my house, and his prosthetic can’t get wet!”

“Not true,” Bucky mumbles, distracted. He points at the foyer floorplan, saying, “There are multiple chandelier anchor points. Didn’t the article say he was ‘hanging’ the items?”

“Some pretentious BS about an art exhibit/auction that ‘visually breaks the chain of generational guilt,’” you scoff. “He said 'The Diamond of Alqualondë is the jewel in the setting.'”

“And you’re sure it’s not a real gem?”

You step away from the table and slump onto Steve’s couch. “Yeah. The minimum bid is way less than a blue diamond.”

“That and he said it’s stained with his father’s blood,” Steve reminds you, settling a discreet few inches away.

“Blood washes off easy. Unless he’s lying, it’s a poem,” Barnes says.

You shoot Steve a startled look. “So when you said your friend here works as a ‘soldier of fortune…’”

Bucky’s chuckle makes you turn and bury your embarrassed face against Steve’s shoulder, sending his pulse jumping. He studiously ignores Barnes's knowing look.

“I can’t pay him either way,” you say in a sad, muffled voice.

“Stark’s empire benefited from his father’s work with SHIELD,” Bucky says harshly. “Getting to ruin his plans for Howard’s loot will be a privilege. Speaking of which—” He strides over to his leather jacket and pulls out an envelope. “Did you get one of these, Steve?”

Steve shifts his weight, and the two of you share a shy smile as you straighten so he can stand up. That little burst of euphoria lasts him as long as it takes to recognize the handwriting on Bucky’s letter.

“I don’t think I got one, but why is Alexander Pierce signing an invitation to Tony Stark’s gala?”

“The Secretary of State?” you say, coming over.

“It’s PR,” Bucky suggests. “You’ve got Stark cleaning out his dad’s old stuff, the Justice department cleaning out SHIELD’s bad apples, and there’s the guy who put it all in motion standing next to a bunch of respectable soldiers in suits.”

“Cleaning up his image,” you finish for him.

“And they sent you the invitation?” Steve teases Bucky, but you're already scheming.

“No, no, no, that's a million more reasons for cameras! Do the winners get their items right away, or can we wait till the next day to—” you make some vaguely furtive gestures that Steve has to dodge.

Barnes shakes his head. “I wouldn’t risk it, but, do you have a fancy dress?” There’s an impish little twist in his lip as he snatches back the invitation.

“A— what?”

“We’ve got a month, and we’re only after one of the items,” Steve says, pushing back the need to look for his own version of Ross’s invitation. “No one needs to be James Bond, here”

“Indiana Jones,” Bucky corrects, leaning past Steve to make eye contact with you. “You want to write a replacement for us to swap out?”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” you whisper, staggering back to stare at the blueprints.

“I’ll get you some water, Caes,” Steve says, glare-chasing Barnes into the kitchen. Once there, he hisses, “I expected you to play along before telling us it’s impossible!”

“You’re the one implying she’s a Bond girl,” Bucky grins. “No judgement, but you could try not calling her ‘Sis.’”

Steve’s so disconcerted he overfills the glass onto the counter. In an even voice he says, “Caesura. Say-sura. It’s her nickname, means a pause in a poem, like rests in a song.”

“Is it still a pause if you never pick up again?”

“I would never have stopped looking for you.” The dishtowel’s still in the other room, so the spilled water starts dripping onto the floor. It’s the only sound for a long moment.

“I know, but this? This feels like an ending, Steve,” Bucky says, soft words spoken almost in cadence with the drips. “Howard Stark’s accident… what do you know about it?”

“I was still searching. I barely remember.” He catches something awful in his friend’s expression before Bucky turns away.

“Tony Stark’s going to open that famously impenetrable vault of his and auction everything from the car. Clothes, watches, half-invented gadgets, and a hard drive he’s never looked at.”

“How can you know he never—”

“It’s full of evidence proving the infiltration goes back a lot farther than current news reports. I only know because I was sent to steal it.” Bucky’s expression is strangely blank.

Three words echo in Steve’s mind. ‘HYDRA?’ ’Not willingly.’

“So Howard was murdered?” he whispers.

“Crash looked real to me. When I got to the wreck he was already dead. I smashed the decoy I was meant to swap out, turned it in, and waited for someone to make news with the real data.” His tone turns hard. “I’m still waiting.”

Steve’s still reeling, but he forces himself to ask, “You sure Tony isn’t HYDRA?”

“I plan to ask him that myself.”

“And the poem?”

“One hell of a benign reason to be there.” Barnes clasps Steve on his upper arms with both hands, equal pressure. “Look, I’m already involved. That fucking reporter made sure of that. You aren’t. Tell me no and I’ll pretend you never said anything—but there are HYDRA operatives left in government, and the proof is on that hard drive.”

2. From “The Words That Change Us”

Kaidan falls silent. Fuck his implant. Fuck the faulty wiring in his head. Fuck not remembering to bring his own damn meds. If only Anderson could see this. Keep Shepard on his feet my ass. Can’t even keep myself on my feet.

“Anderson thanked me today,” Kaidan says, cracking an eye open. Every ship in the Alliance is practically a darkroom. Why the hell is Arcturus so bright? He sucks air in through his teeth. “Can’t figure out why.”

Shepard gives him a bemused look. “No wonder you have a migraine.”

“Stop trying to be funny,” Kaidan grunts. “It gives me a migraine.”

“I’m delightfully funny,” Shepard informs him, “which you might notice if you weren’t so busy thinking yourself into a migraine.”

Kaidan tries to laugh, but immediately regrets it. Shepard tightens his grip on Kaidan’s arm.

“See? Funny.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“Quit noticing."

“Shepard.” It comes out as a mumble, and the way Shepard’s fingers dig into his forearm before relaxing suggests he’s listening now. “He said I keep you on your feet. Why would he say that?”

Shepard’s brow furrows. Instead of answer, he gets to his feet and pulls Kaidan back to his. “How about we get the icepick out of your head, and then talk about this.”

“No. If we talk about it now you’ll take pity and actually give me an answer.”

Shepard huffs, grips Kaidan’s arm and resumes course, footsteps slow and steady.

“I didn’t do anything to help you earn this,” Kaidan persists. “Why does he think I did?”

More silence. More steps. Each footfall ricochets off the deckplates, pricking at the base of Kaidan’s skull. Where the fuck is the airlock? It feels like they’ve been walking for hours.

“You’re stable ground,” Shepard says at last.

Stable ground. Maybe if his head wasn’t throbbing so hard he could figure out what the hell that means.

“You don’t…want anything from me,” Shepard continues. His voice is small, uncertain, as though now that he’s voiced the thought aloud he might find out it isn’t true.

It isn’t true.

You. I want you.

3. From Sonata, Chapter 10 - Unsteady

There are more well-dressed people in this one room than Joker has seen in his entire lifetime. It should be his worst nightmare, but he’s actually having fun. Turns out Tali has an exceptional gift for making unbearable social occasions bearable.

“And what about her?” Joker asks, pointing to a woman who looks like a canary covered in taffeta.

Tali leans against the table beside him and tilts her head, the purple and black sequined scarf that Mrs. Alenko had given her for the evening catching in the bright lights of the ballroom. 

“Hmmm. A widower. Discovered her husband of more than thirty years had gambled away their entire fortune, leaving her penniless. She is here to mourn—not him, but his brother. The man she was truly in love with. She thought he did not love her back, but the truth is that he was too afraid to tell her. After his brother’s death, he swore he would, but he went down with the Cairo before he had the chance.”

“Damn, Tali, that’s dark,” Joker says with a chuckle. “You got a happy one? How about that guy?” He points to a random stranger who’s sipping a glass of wine and laughing too hard.

She swirls the liquid in her glass. Forget the geth. This is where she really shines.

“He professed his love to…” she scans the room. Eventually she points at another well-dressed man, who looks absolutely no different from any of the rest as far as Joker is concerned. “That man over there. They are desperately in love, but he,” she points again at the new guy, “is afraid of his feelings. He has a dark past, and doesn’t want to drag his true love down with his demons.”

“Happy, Tali. I was looking for happy.”

She raises her glass. “A few spins on the dancefloor and he’s going to realize that pushing him away will only snap them back together. Like quarks.”

Joker clinks his glass against hers. “That’s my girl.”

4. From Fugue, Chapter 4 – This Hole You Left

But while most of the galaxy is preparing to mourn Commander Shepard, the soldier standing next to him might be the only person he knows who’s grieving for Sam. Anderson swirls the remaining liquid in his glass.

“He was the most reckless SOB I’ve ever met,” Anderson says, watching a hanar drift along one of the intact pathways below them. “I’m pretty sure half the shit he pulled over the years was just to piss me off.”

Alenko raises an eyebrow ever so slightly in surprise, but doesn’t turn his head. “He’s always at his best when the plan goes to hell.”

“Since he was a kid,” Anderson agrees, not missing the fact that Alenko had referred to him in the present tense. “First time I ever laid eyes on him he was four. He’d wandered away from Daniel on Arcturus and he called in the cavalry to look for him. You know where I found him?”

Alenko shakes his head.

“In a fountain, playing with a model ship. I asked him what the hell his spaceship was doing in the water. He said, ‘I’m about to find out.’”

Alenko’s mouth curves in a brittle smile. “I didn’t know you knew him that young.”

“I doubt he remembered,” Anderson says. “His father and I were good friends. I dropped in on occasion while he was growing up.” Before Shepard was a soldier. Before he was the Butcher of Torfan or the Savior of the Citadel. Back when he was still Sam, all knees and elbows, so desperate to please he couldn’t sit still.

Anderson still misses that kid.

5. From “The Way Back”

“You have a gun, Shepard, and it shoots mass-accelerated projectiles a hell of a lot more efficiently than you can shoot yourself. That was a titanic amount of energy you put out. How in the hell do you justify the cost of that on your own body?”

“Because it saved your life,” he snaps, dropping the barrel extension onto the bench with a clatter. “She had your head in her crosshairs, and I put her the fuck down. So yeah, it was worth the cost.”

Kaidan falls silent.

Shepard shoots him a reproachful look. “You know, I didn’t miss your fucking lectures.”

Kaidan holds his gaze, retort right on the tip of his tongue. Shepard shouldn’t need a lecture to know that fucking with his own mass as a combat tactic was reckless, stupid, and above all, unnecessary. But he did need one. And someone willing to get in his way long enough to do it.

Wasn’t that part of what had always made them so good together? Shepard charging into a china shop like a bull, with Kaidan standing at the door waving his arms? Shepard would run through him as often as he stopped or swerved, but no matter how it ended Kaidan was there to help him pick up the pieces.

He softens. “Yeah, well, I did miss what a complete idiot you are sometimes. You could have, just, I don’t know. Knocked me to the ground. Or knocked her to the ground. Using her own mass.”

Shepard’s brow furrows and he opens his mouth to protest before he sighs in defeat. “Yeah. Ok. That probably would have worked, too.”

Kaidan’s smile deepens. “You always did prefer theatrics out in the field.”

“Me?” Shepard huffs and pokes at the pieces of the Carnifex, chin low to hide his own smile. “Okay, maybe I occasionally enjoy a small flair for the dramatic.”

“Small. You call turning yourself into the most impractical mass-accelerated weapon I could conceive of small.”

Shepard’s smile turns into a smirk. “Say whatever you want. But just imagine being that sniper getting an eyeful of me coming right at her. That’s the kind of fear of god she’s not going to forget anytime soon.”