Guess who finished the fic and forgot to post the remaining chapters? It's me. I did that. Sorry guys! Here they are now.

"Wait, so I'm sorry, what the fuck, Natasha?"

"Yeah, that's fair."

"You got kidnapped?"

"Yep."

"And then rescued by your little sister, Sylvie, and Kate Bishop."

"I did at least twenty-five percent of the rescuing myself, thanks."

"What the fuck?"

"Pull it together," Natasha said.

"Rude."

"You have some news too, don't you?"

"I do?"

Natasha widened her eyes. "Steve."

"Oh, right." Bucky blushed. "Yeah, we're. Uh. A thing now."

"Wow. So when did that happen?"

"A few days ago. Don't say anything. But...yeah, I'm pretty happy about it."

Actually, he was fucking overjoyed. The past few days had been some of the happiest in his life. Steve respected his wish to keep their relationship as private as possible (Bucky was still worried about his dad finding out) and nobody else knew yet. Bucky had pulled himself together and explained everything to Yelena, who'd forgiven him (mostly) and he was really excited for the play, which was only in about five minutes.

The only thing he was still worried about was Lily.

His little sister had started acting weirder, refusing to speak to their father (which was fair) and even cutting herself off from Becca and Bucky (which was a little more concerning). Bucky had tried to ask her questions, but she deflected them every time.

Which was why Bucky felt a little guilty about abandoning her and Becca to sleep at Natasha's house tonight. But their dad had just gotten the news that their mom was seeing someone, and he'd spend the last day or so in a horrible, constantly drunk state, and Bucky really just fucking needed to get out for a night.

"You excited for tonight?" Natasha asked, as if she'd read his mind. Bucky nodded. Natasha grinned. "Good to know. You should also keep in mind that I will be up far, far later than you or Steve...so if you have plans, you should postpone them."

"Natasha!" Bucky squawked. "That's−we don't−we aren't even−I hate you."

"Hmm. No, you don't."

"I do."

"You don't. I'm your best friend and you love me."

"Whatever."

Kate Bishop finally appeared, scurrying backstage with muttered apologies about her dog. Gamora accepted her excuses−barely, and with an enormous eye roll−and the show began.

It went without a hitch. (Unless you counted Gamora wincing when Vision delivered his lines like a fucking robot. Or Peter almost tripping over his own feet onstage.) What really made the play worth it was Kate and Yelena

They looked...happy. Even at the moment when they both died. They were good actresses, but beyond that they really were in love. At one point, Bucky glanced up to see tears in Steve's eyes and kissed him, glad that it was dark backstage.

Bucky, for his part, was glad that he hadn't ruined Kate and Yelena's relationship by kissing Yelena. Which, yes, thank you Nat for pointing that out, it was stupid.

Kate still seemed to very much enjoy 'killing' Bucky with her fake sword, which Bucky hoped wasn't supposed to be some form of revenge.

After the play, after their bows and the murmurs of congratulations from the crowd and fellow cast members alike, Bucky was still riding the buzz of adrenaline from the show. Steve, evidently, was feeling it too; he was grinning like a maniac and couldn't stop talking.

When they stepped out into the hallway, Steve looked left and right to make sure nobody was there...and then kissed Bucky.

Startled, Bucky froze for a moment before pushing him away. "What the fuck, Steve?" he growled. "I thought we agreed that−that this was supposed to be a private thing."

"Well−I just—" Steve stammered, seeming lost. "Nobody saw."

"But they could've!" Bucky snarled. The feeling of elation was entirely gone, replaced by a sort of feral, defensive anger.

"Why do you even care about that so much?" Steve demanded. "Are you−what, scared about being seen with me?"

Bucky tried to quickly compose his face, but it was too late. "You are, aren't you? You're ashamed." Steve ran a hand through his hair.

"That's not−no. Steve, I'm not ashamed," Bucky protested. "It's−you don't understand."

"Then help me understand. Bucky, please," Steve begged. "I don't want to live like this. I love you, Buck. I don't want to be your dirty secret."

"That's not−I don't−Steve..." Bucky trailed off.

I love you, Buck.

I love you.

I love you.

"Fuck," Bucky said. "Just−I need space, okay?"

He turned and walked down the hall. When he reached the doors to the outside, he pushed them open and ran, tearing through the pouring rain like he was running from a fire.

Steve couldn't see him break.

Nobody could see him break.