[ honestly, there's a part of sam that knew he shouldn't have brought up d.c. a part of him that missed the speed of that city, the weird tension that always seemed to flow through it, but also the moment of beauty. of quiet mornings running through the monuments. of days walking the streets and knowing what happened behind the scenes. d.c. wasn't home, for sam, but it was close enough for long enough.
it was where he met steve, after all.
and he shouldn't have brought it up.
but he did, and sam is not one to shy away from a fight, or his own mistakes. the tension that shoots through steve like a crack of thunder. guilt, yes, but also blame. he's been around enough soldiers, enoughs vets who survived and heard the stories of those who didn't, to be able to pick it out of just about anyone. and lucky for steve, he and sam have spent enough time together over these last few months, sam has started to pick up on a few of these steve-isms. or cap-isms. he's not sure what he wants to call them yet.
like that not-smile. like that exhale. somewhere around here steve says leave the old girl resting and sam feels a quick of a comment in the back of his throat. an alright, grandpa, but watch your back when you stand because sometimes steve can pass and other times sam is hit across the face with the fact he's from the forties and there's no denying it. but sam also knows that what steve says next, once he's clasped a warm, heavy hand to his shoulder, is the more important comment to react to.
again - he's starting to guess when these things are going to happen, and he can almost feel the apology before it leaves steve's mouth. sam almost jumps in to cut him off, a quick don't you dare just to pull the rug out from under him. but instead, he just lets steve say his piece. listens to the words and the tone and the responsibility that almost drips from steve's very shoulders. it's at the end of that, just around the word 'end', that sam's brows shoot up. an unspoken oh, is this how we're going to play it? not that steve can see, with how he's avoiding his eyes. coward.
at first, sam just waits. lets them both crouch there under this stove with steve still refusing to look at sam and sam not afraid to let the silence linger. for one moment, and then one more, before he pushes out a sigh of his own and pushes up to stand. ]
I deserve a lot of things, Cap, so I won't argue with you there. [ he'd settle for a pizza, if he's being perfectly honest. and that's still on the table.
sam holds out a hand, then, for steve to take. he may not need the help to stand, but sam offers it anyway, which is movement sam's gotten used to doing. a feeling he's used to having. you might not need me, right now, but don't worry. i can wait. he assumes that steve will take it, even if it takes a moment, but again - sam is patient, and sam waits, and when steve's hand finally makes it in his own, he'll pull the other man up to his feet. ] But this really depressing flat? Is also what I chose. [ with steve's hand still wrapped around his own, between them, sam will smile. will hold steve's eyes now that he can't get out of it, push their hands forward until sam's knuckle taps against steve's chest. ]
And I'm pretty sure I chose you, too. So you're kind of stuck with me.
[ Steve will burn himself to the ground to keep the world warm, to light the way for those who put their faith in him, but Sam especially. From the moment he met him on the green just outside of the monument walk, something about the man stuck with him. Maybe it's that he radiates something good, something warm, and Steve has a knack for finding the light in the strangest places.
And it's that light he wants to spare, that he wants to kindle, because something tells him that the world is about to change around them. That everything is shifting, but the way ahead is muddy, the path dim.
It's when Sam pushes to stand that Steve actually laughs. He doesn't have the time to quip back a I'll remember that before the offered hand quiets him. He doesn't need the help, no, but so few offer it so openly, so honestly. Sam is a man that comes without expectations, that has no fine print other than the quiet demand of a pizza.
Gripping his hand, he pulls himself up to a stand, finding he looks down at him, a little awed, touched. It's the most honest expression that's seen Steve Rogers' face in months. The bend of a knuckle on his chest, the determination in his voice, the warm palm pressed against his own... it undoes something tight and bound up in his chest. He squeezes that hand with his own, but it doesn't stop his free hand from finding Sam's shoulder, a little high, but affectionate, settling at the juncture of neck and slope of a shoulder. He's sure he can feel the man's pulse beneath the pad of his thumb. ]
I should say you're crazy. [ A smile. A real smile, one that's filled to the brim with warmth, one that reaches the blues of his eyes. ] But I'd say I'm incredibly lucky you chose me. I don't know what I'd do without you, Sam.
[ He's been instrumental, of course, to their missions, to the journey to free Bucky, but it's more than that, isn't it? He doesn't have a name for it, not yet. ]
[ oh, sam knows. it's part of the reason he feels so right in being here. why he knows, without a doubt, that it's where he's supposed to be. once upon a time he'd told his parents and sister that he had joined the air force to change the world. and while he's stuck in this run down safe house, arguing with captain america about pizza and whether or not they can get a stove as old as he is working again, would be considered saving the world. but somehow, in little moments like this, it does.
steve laughs, and sam feels lighter for it. feels better for every moment that he can pull a sound like that out of a man who constantly, constantly, ends up with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
somewhere in that, there is a moment. a brief flash of steve rogers, under all that captain america. sam has seen it more and more, over these last couple of weeks. stolen moments, brief flashes. when steve lets on he's tired, when steve gets frustrated with nowhere to go. and now, when steve looks at him as sam bumps his knuckle into his chest. reminds him, again, that he's here for good. that he's not going anywhere. steve's free hand comes up to sam's shoulder, wide and warm as it presses against the muscles there, and sam lets himself be temporarily basked in the light of steve's actual, honest smile.
there it is he thinks to himself. ] You should, but you won't.
[ and then sam's grin is widening, matching the breadth of steve's. ]
And you'd probably go hungry. Possibly also bored out of your mind. Plus- [ another tap to steve's chest, before sam is releasing his hold on his hand. or at the very least, relaxing his own - giving steve the space to let go if he wants to. ] You'd miss me, and I just can't have that.
[ The walls don't slide back up. The guise of Captain America stays tucked away a while longer, for as long as he has the pressure of that knuckle against his chest, he feels human. The soldier, the icon, all of that falls away and for the first time in what feels like years, Steve Rogers can breathe. ]
You're probably right. Nothing can be boring with you around, you make sure of that.
[ A tiny jab breathed on a laugh, because Sam has commentary for everything, has a story for every quiet, dark moment where sleep evades them. Sam takes up room without permission, but Steve gives it willingly, letting jokes and stories fill the cracks in his foundation, where the weight of everything has begun to splinter him at the base.
Where Sam's hand relaxes, Steve's flexes, drawing the other's in against his chest, however brief. ]
Thank you, Sam. For staying.
[ The smile returns, but it's the blues of his eyes that cloud with something grateful, something warm, as if his very heart has climbed up out of his chest and made a new home for itself. Without the walls, without the weight of the shield on his arm, it's easy to be Steve Rogers again.
He releases the hand on his chest, but the one planted on Sam's shoulder gives it a squeeze, a small shake, as if he can't quite relinquish contact, as if Steve Rogers is a man who has been drowning, and has only just found harbor, connection, deprived of touch for so long. ]
It's not too late. We might be able to find that pizza of yours, if you're up to the task. I'm going to call this fight for the oven, I think we're 0-1.
[ sam feels something like relief, in those following moments. in noticing the walls don't go back up. in seeing the way steve seems to let some of that weight and responsibility and captain america fall from his shoulders. normally, sam would simply feel accomplished. would feel a kind of finally in the back of his head. but something about it, right now, feels a little different. like some part of this steve that he's seeing - the man, the person - is new to even sam.
steve breathes, and sam feels himself caught up in the moment of it. of seeing him. of being here. the smile on sam's face feels a bit too young, then, because of it. a bit too wide, a bit too soft. or maybe not too anything at all - maybe the smile simply matches the man standing in front of him. that smile is soon propped up but an eyeroll - oh, is that how we're playing this echoed in the back of the room. ]
Yeah- and you know what? You don't really make it easy, what with your stoic staring and serious faces. I have to work to make this shit fun.
[ sam loosens his hold, then, aware of his own tendency to hang on for a bit too long. to keep touching, even when the moment has moved on. and that is when steve's hand tightens, flexes, draws him in. it's not that steve rogers surprises him, really, but there are moments when sam is reminded of what brought him here in the first place. the genuine nature of it. the belief in who is he, as steve. the smile is back and his eyes are so freaking blue that sam almost wants to get lost in them. in the face of something like that, it's no wonder that captain america - that steve - can make anything happen.
there is the habit, the reflex, to make something of a joke at the thanks. the urge to roll his eyes and say something about steve being a huge softie or don't make this weird or of course, if i wasn't here, you'd be eating boiled eggs or whatever you losers did in the 40s. but something about the tone, even in his own head, doesn't feel right. so instead sam simply returns the look - something equally warm, something equally unafraid of the honesty looking back at him. ]
I'm here for as long as you need me.
[ and its the truth, a kind of heavy, solid truth that fills the space between them. sure, sam has a family. a life. people to go back to and places he calls home. but he knew the day he met steve rogers that whatever plans he might have had weren't nearly as important as whatever this is, whatever this will become, and sam is confident in that.
steve releases his hand, then, and sam almost regrets letting him. feels the loss of the grip as soon as it's gone. the loss is mitigated by the hand on his shoulder, though, and sam finds himself quite okay with it staying there. leaning into the shake just a bit as he laughs. ]
If you're buying, how can I say no? We're coming back for this oven, though. I demand a rematch.
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no subject
it was where he met steve, after all.
and he shouldn't have brought it up.
but he did, and sam is not one to shy away from a fight, or his own mistakes. the tension that shoots through steve like a crack of thunder. guilt, yes, but also blame. he's been around enough soldiers, enoughs vets who survived and heard the stories of those who didn't, to be able to pick it out of just about anyone. and lucky for steve, he and sam have spent enough time together over these last few months, sam has started to pick up on a few of these steve-isms. or cap-isms. he's not sure what he wants to call them yet.
like that not-smile. like that exhale. somewhere around here steve says leave the old girl resting and sam feels a quick of a comment in the back of his throat. an alright, grandpa, but watch your back when you stand because sometimes steve can pass and other times sam is hit across the face with the fact he's from the forties and there's no denying it. but sam also knows that what steve says next, once he's clasped a warm, heavy hand to his shoulder, is the more important comment to react to.
again - he's starting to guess when these things are going to happen, and he can almost feel the apology before it leaves steve's mouth. sam almost jumps in to cut him off, a quick don't you dare just to pull the rug out from under him. but instead, he just lets steve say his piece. listens to the words and the tone and the responsibility that almost drips from steve's very shoulders. it's at the end of that, just around the word 'end', that sam's brows shoot up. an unspoken oh, is this how we're going to play it? not that steve can see, with how he's avoiding his eyes. coward.
at first, sam just waits. lets them both crouch there under this stove with steve still refusing to look at sam and sam not afraid to let the silence linger. for one moment, and then one more, before he pushes out a sigh of his own and pushes up to stand. ]
I deserve a lot of things, Cap, so I won't argue with you there. [ he'd settle for a pizza, if he's being perfectly honest. and that's still on the table.
sam holds out a hand, then, for steve to take. he may not need the help to stand, but sam offers it anyway, which is movement sam's gotten used to doing. a feeling he's used to having. you might not need me, right now, but don't worry. i can wait. he assumes that steve will take it, even if it takes a moment, but again - sam is patient, and sam waits, and when steve's hand finally makes it in his own, he'll pull the other man up to his feet. ] But this really depressing flat? Is also what I chose. [ with steve's hand still wrapped around his own, between them, sam will smile. will hold steve's eyes now that he can't get out of it, push their hands forward until sam's knuckle taps against steve's chest. ]
And I'm pretty sure I chose you, too. So you're kind of stuck with me.
no subject
And it's that light he wants to spare, that he wants to kindle, because something tells him that the world is about to change around them. That everything is shifting, but the way ahead is muddy, the path dim.
It's when Sam pushes to stand that Steve actually laughs. He doesn't have the time to quip back a I'll remember that before the offered hand quiets him. He doesn't need the help, no, but so few offer it so openly, so honestly. Sam is a man that comes without expectations, that has no fine print other than the quiet demand of a pizza.
Gripping his hand, he pulls himself up to a stand, finding he looks down at him, a little awed, touched. It's the most honest expression that's seen Steve Rogers' face in months. The bend of a knuckle on his chest, the determination in his voice, the warm palm pressed against his own... it undoes something tight and bound up in his chest. He squeezes that hand with his own, but it doesn't stop his free hand from finding Sam's shoulder, a little high, but affectionate, settling at the juncture of neck and slope of a shoulder. He's sure he can feel the man's pulse beneath the pad of his thumb. ]
I should say you're crazy. [ A smile. A real smile, one that's filled to the brim with warmth, one that reaches the blues of his eyes. ] But I'd say I'm incredibly lucky you chose me. I don't know what I'd do without you, Sam.
[ He's been instrumental, of course, to their missions, to the journey to free Bucky, but it's more than that, isn't it? He doesn't have a name for it, not yet. ]
no subject
steve laughs, and sam feels lighter for it. feels better for every moment that he can pull a sound like that out of a man who constantly, constantly, ends up with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
somewhere in that, there is a moment. a brief flash of steve rogers, under all that captain america. sam has seen it more and more, over these last couple of weeks. stolen moments, brief flashes. when steve lets on he's tired, when steve gets frustrated with nowhere to go. and now, when steve looks at him as sam bumps his knuckle into his chest. reminds him, again, that he's here for good. that he's not going anywhere. steve's free hand comes up to sam's shoulder, wide and warm as it presses against the muscles there, and sam lets himself be temporarily basked in the light of steve's actual, honest smile.
there it is he thinks to himself. ] You should, but you won't.
[ and then sam's grin is widening, matching the breadth of steve's. ]
And you'd probably go hungry. Possibly also bored out of your mind. Plus- [ another tap to steve's chest, before sam is releasing his hold on his hand. or at the very least, relaxing his own - giving steve the space to let go if he wants to. ] You'd miss me, and I just can't have that.
no subject
You're probably right. Nothing can be boring with you around, you make sure of that.
[ A tiny jab breathed on a laugh, because Sam has commentary for everything, has a story for every quiet, dark moment where sleep evades them. Sam takes up room without permission, but Steve gives it willingly, letting jokes and stories fill the cracks in his foundation, where the weight of everything has begun to splinter him at the base.
Where Sam's hand relaxes, Steve's flexes, drawing the other's in against his chest, however brief. ]
Thank you, Sam. For staying.
[ The smile returns, but it's the blues of his eyes that cloud with something grateful, something warm, as if his very heart has climbed up out of his chest and made a new home for itself. Without the walls, without the weight of the shield on his arm, it's easy to be Steve Rogers again.
He releases the hand on his chest, but the one planted on Sam's shoulder gives it a squeeze, a small shake, as if he can't quite relinquish contact, as if Steve Rogers is a man who has been drowning, and has only just found harbor, connection, deprived of touch for so long. ]
It's not too late. We might be able to find that pizza of yours, if you're up to the task. I'm going to call this fight for the oven, I think we're 0-1.
no subject
steve breathes, and sam feels himself caught up in the moment of it. of seeing him. of being here. the smile on sam's face feels a bit too young, then, because of it. a bit too wide, a bit too soft. or maybe not too anything at all - maybe the smile simply matches the man standing in front of him. that smile is soon propped up but an eyeroll - oh, is that how we're playing this echoed in the back of the room. ]
Yeah- and you know what? You don't really make it easy, what with your stoic staring and serious faces. I have to work to make this shit fun.
[ sam loosens his hold, then, aware of his own tendency to hang on for a bit too long. to keep touching, even when the moment has moved on. and that is when steve's hand tightens, flexes, draws him in. it's not that steve rogers surprises him, really, but there are moments when sam is reminded of what brought him here in the first place. the genuine nature of it. the belief in who is he, as steve. the smile is back and his eyes are so freaking blue that sam almost wants to get lost in them. in the face of something like that, it's no wonder that captain america - that steve - can make anything happen.
there is the habit, the reflex, to make something of a joke at the thanks. the urge to roll his eyes and say something about steve being a huge softie or don't make this weird or of course, if i wasn't here, you'd be eating boiled eggs or whatever you losers did in the 40s. but something about the tone, even in his own head, doesn't feel right. so instead sam simply returns the look - something equally warm, something equally unafraid of the honesty looking back at him. ]
I'm here for as long as you need me.
[ and its the truth, a kind of heavy, solid truth that fills the space between them. sure, sam has a family. a life. people to go back to and places he calls home. but he knew the day he met steve rogers that whatever plans he might have had weren't nearly as important as whatever this is, whatever this will become, and sam is confident in that.
steve releases his hand, then, and sam almost regrets letting him. feels the loss of the grip as soon as it's gone. the loss is mitigated by the hand on his shoulder, though, and sam finds himself quite okay with it staying there. leaning into the shake just a bit as he laughs. ]
If you're buying, how can I say no? We're coming back for this oven, though. I demand a rematch.