Author's Note: Welcome to the final chapter, everyone! I hope you enjoyed taking this fluffy, dramatic journey with me! More notes at the end!

The Times They Are A-Changin'

Chapter Twenty-One: And Love Goes On

It was almost nine in the morning before Steve stirred from his deep slumber. He came awake in stages, the warmth of the morning sunlight pouring in through his window and across his face the first thing he noticed. He squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, silently cursing himself for not thinking to draw the curtains before getting into bed the night before.

Color bloomed behind his eyelids in increasingly vibrant phosphorescent bursts the longer he squinted, so Steve stopped and rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillows. The change in position fetched his arm against something cool to the touch, and his leg brushed something warm.

The sensation gave Steve the push he needed to open his eyes, long lashes fluttering against the sudden influx of light. The sight that met them when he was finally able to focus, though, brought a smile to his face.

Bucky lay sprawled on his back beside him, chest rising and falling with the slow, even breaths of someone still deeply asleep. His right hand was shoved up under his pillow, and his left rested on his stomach under the blankets that were drawn nearly all the way up to his chin. The ex-soldier's dark hair was a veritable bird's nest, and the morning sun brought out warm, almost red undertones from among the wild strands that Steve had never noticed before.

Steve's fingers itched for a pencil, even a bit of charcoal to capture his lover's rare moment of absolute peace. His jaw rough with stubble, and cheeks flush from sleep, Bucky had never looked more beautiful to Steve than he did in that moment.

He tried to reign in the impulse, he really did, but Steve's muse was relentless when stirred, and it had been so very long since he had last drawn…

Moving with every bit of stealth that working with the Black Widow had taught him, the super-soldier slipped out of bed and across the carpeted floor to his desk. He watched Bucky warily as he fished quietly through the top drawer and came up with an abandoned sketch pad he hadn't touched in an age, and, blessing of blessings, a pack of colored pencils.

They were the cheap sort, a joke stocking stuffer that Nat had given him at Christmas after she'd caught him making an effort to draw one night a week before. As he flipped to a blank page on the sketch pad, Steve's brow furrowed when he realized that that was the last time he remembered actually putting pencil to paper for more than the occasional doodle in the margins of his work notes.

He glanced up at his subject as he pulled out the first pencil, and his smile returned. Maybe he'd just needed to find the right inspiration.

The desk was placed at completely the wrong angle, so Steve brought his knee up and used it as a make-shift table to work on. Sleeping as deeply as he was, Bucky was a very cooperative model, doing little more than sigh occasionally as the minutes ticked past.

By the time Steve was putting on the finishing touches to the rough portrait, it was after ten, and he was well pleased with his work. The pencils were a far cry from the ones he normally preferred, but for light work such as this, they'd performed admirably. He'd used just about every color in the box in his pursuit of the soft, almost ethereal lighting that lit Bucky's features, leading Steve to use warm colors on the side of the man's face lifted to the sun, and cool blues with a hint of green on the other. He had drawn the swell of his friend's chest exposed, rather than under the blanket as it was in life so he could include the hard, crisp lines of his left shoulder in the picture. Black and gray, white and blue, plus a little hint of gold played sharp contrast to the softness of Bucky's peaceful, sleeping face. The top of the crimson star peeked out from under the line of the navy colored comforter that Steve had left as a half-finished suggestion of softness at the left side of the picture.

Smiling to himself, and satisfied in a way he hadn't been for quite some time, Steve glanced up at Bucky again for a final comparison. His pleasure faded a little when he saw that the former soldier's face had contorted itself into frown.

A quiet, pained sound escaped Bucky as he twitched, frown deepening before pulling back into a grimace. The man tossed his head to the opposite side, and the soft whir of machinery reached Steve's ears when his friend's left hand thrashed wildly out to one side, as though searching for something. A few words of Russian escaped the man in his sleep, but their meaning was lost on the super-soldier as he set aside his sketch pad on the desk and padded over to the bed. Not for the first time, he wished he spoke more than the handful of words and phrases he'd learned from Natasha to use when working with Bucky during his recovery months ago.

The ex-soldier was breaking out in a sweat now, his entire body rigid as he curled in on himself, only to snap out straight again and throw his hands up as though fending off a blow.

Knowing better than to lay a hand on the man, Steve said in a low, soothing tone "Bucky? Bucky wake up, it's okay, it's just a dream."

The sound of his voice seemed to help a little, as after an initial twitch, Bucky's thrashing died down some.

"Come on back to me, Buck," Steve coaxed gently as he sat on the edge of the mattress. "You're alright. You're safe."

Bucky's brow furrowed, and this his eyes fluttered open, squinting painfully against the sunlight.

"Stevie?" he croaked, voice rough, expression confused as he struggled to focus on his friend.

"Stevie? You haven't called me that in years, Buck," the super-soldier said with an amused snort, a soft smile pulling at his lips. "Not since we were boys and I finally got so sick of it I decked you for it," he added with a light chuckle as the memories returned full force.

Bucky and Steve had known one another for longer than either cared to say sometimes, and though he'd never admitted it as a boy (even to himself), Steve had been envious of Bucky growing up. How could he not be? Bucky had been everything Steve wasn't: strong, healthy, and good looking with easy manners that put him in the good graces of just about everyone whose path he crossed. If he hadn't been so damn good, so genuine and honest and full of life, Steve probably would have hated him. It didn't hurt that Bucky had been one of the few to always treat him as an equal, never talked down to him despite his physical frailties. Not that he hadn't ever worried over him. Bucky had fussed worse than his mother more often than not, especially after she had died, but he'd never treated Steve as being less than him because of it.

So, instead of bitter rivals, the pair had become the best of friends.

There had been one habit, though, one little nickname Bucky had for him when they were little that had driven Steve right up the wall. The other boy had known he hated it too, but then he'd always delighted in winding Steve up. That much had never changed at least.

He'd called him Stevie.

Even Steve's mother didn't call him that, and Steve wasn't about to take that from some gap toothed abercrombie, even if he was his best friend.

So, when he was nine years old, and Bucky had used the hated nickname just one too many times that sweltering summer afternoon, Steve had hauled off and punched the other boy right in the mouth. He'd gashed open his knuckles on Bucky's teeth for his trouble, but he'd also knocked out the boy's right front tooth, something that he'd felt a little flash of pride for until he saw the tears welling in Bucky's wide gray eyes.

He'd apologized immediately, feeling horrible, like the lowest of the low as his friend tried to muffle his cries with a hand to his mouth while Steve fretted. Eventually, the pain had receded enough that the older boy could lower his hand, and Steve flinched in unison with him as Bucky traced the hole in his grin with the tip of his tongue.

"I'm sorry," Steve had said for the umpteenth time, sounding miserable as he stared at his friend with big, sad blue eyes.

Bucky had just shrugged, trying to play it off for the sake of looking tough as he wiped his nose on his sleeve like he got teeth knocked out every day. "S'alright."

"You can...you can call me Stevie if you want," Steve had said, willing to give up even that little scrap of pride for the sake of his friendship. In that moment, he would have done just about anything the other boy asked of him to make up for it.

In retrospect, it spoke volumes for Bucky's character when he just shrugged again and said "Nah. 'Reckon you've about outgrown it anyways," and flashed him a holey grin, only to flinch when it became obvious that Steve had succeeded in splitting his lip as well.

Steve's laugh had been lloud and a little wet as he sniffled and said, "Alright. Come on, if we hurry we can get cleaned up at my place before Mom gets home and lectures the blue bejeezus out of us again."

"No. No, you're not Steve. Who are you?"

Bucky's words in the present dragged Steve from his fond memories and made him look at the man sharply, brow furrowed in concern.

The ex-soldier's expression had turned from confusion to fear as he looked around the room, seeming lost.

"Bucky," Steve said, trying to keep his voice calm and soothing as his heart began to pound alarmingly in his chest.

"Where am I? What's-" Bucky began as he pushed himself upright in the bed and pulled away from Steve as the blond reached for him reflexively. He caught a look at his left arm then, and a quiet, choked cry escaped him. "What is this? What's going on?" he demanded, voice shooting up an octave and descending into outright panic as he gasped "Why can't I feel my arm?"

"Bucky, calm down, take a deep breath, everything's gonna be okay," Steve insisted carefully, heart aching as the fingers of his friend's right hand scrabbled uselessly against the hard metal surface of his left arm and shoulder, as though he thought the limb were simply an armor he could peel away, exposing the skin beneath.

It hurt to watch. It'd been some time since he'd last witnessed Bucky lose time like this; forget when and where he was. He'd never seen him thrown so far back in his memories, though, and somehow this was so much worse than having to contend with the Winter Soldier.

Worried he might hurt himself, Steve grabbed Bucky's face and cradled it in his hands, forcing him to meet his gaze. The man's eyes were wide and frantic as they finally looked at him. Really looked at him.

"You're James Buchanan Barnes, and I am Steven Grant Rogers, Bucky. I'm also Captain America, and we both work with the Avengers. It's twenty-sixteen and this is my bedroom at the Avengers compound in New York," Steve rattled off the facts without really hearing himself as he searched the other man's eyes for some sign of recognition. "Do you remember? I'll go on all day if I need to."

Bucky blinked, and something shifted; it was like some part of him snapped back into place under Steve's hands.

"I remember," Bucky said breathlessly as he sagged bonelessly in Steve's grip. "Shit, yeah...I remember," he repeated as he lifted his right hand and dragged his shaking fingers restlessly through his knotted hair.

A sigh of relief escaped Steve then, and he dragged Bucky in against his bare chest for a hug.

"Jesus, Buck," the super-soldier murmured into the other man's hair as he pressed a kiss to the top of his head and held him tight.

"Now who's being sacrilegious?" Bucky muttered, but allowed Steve to coddle him, even buried his face in the other man's chest.

"Pretty sure God will forgive me considering the scare I just had," Steve countered with a huff, then loosened his hold on the man in his arms and pushed him away, just a little, so he could get a good look at him. "You sure you're alright? You haven't lost time like that in awhile. Any memory gaps?" the super-soldier asked, falling seamlessly back into habit formed months before when Bucky losing track of when and where he was had been a regular occurrence. "What did we do yesterday?"

The question had always been his go-to when it came to assessing Bucky's state of mind, but Steve had forgotten to take into account their rather more exciting than normal evening the night before.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him, a slow smile tugging at his lips. "Besides fuck Captain America senseless?" he asked, then looked up as though he were still thinking on the matter as a strangled sound escaped Steve. "Kicked ass at monopoly, chatted with Wanda, put the fear of God in Lang."

Steve shoved him, and Bucky fell back against his pillow, grinning wickedly at the blush that had settled across his friend's face.

"You're horrible," Steve declared for the second time in less than twenty-four hours.

Bucky just snorted and tugged on the other man's wrist hard enough that he toppled over on top of him. Steve managed to catch himself on one elbow, bringing him nose-to-nose with a decidedly smug Bucky Barnes.

"And yet you still love me," the ex-soldier pointed out as he reached up and ran one hand absently through the other man's hair. "What does that say about you?"

"That I've lost my mind, clearly," Steve drawled even as he leaned in closer so his lips grazed, feather light, across Bucky's.

"Clearly," Bucky agreed with a smug smile, then sealed the declaration with a kiss.

To Be Continued in Part Two:
No Civility in War

Author's Notes: Ah, thank you so much everyone for all your support and reviews as I wrote this. Those of you who took time to leave comments along the way really helped me keep going, and now I've finally actually finished a story! This wound up being much longer than I intended when I first began it, and I particularly want to thank my beta, Nighttimelights for editing such a large chunk of it for me!

But yes, I do have a sequel (multiple actually, but we'll see) planned as mentioned above! It will be in a slightly different style than this one. It is essentially a rewrite of Civil War to make canon fit with my fic in preparation for the part I have planned after that, so I'll only be writing key scenes, rather than the entire movie. That way we can get on to more original story content rather than rehashing a movie we've already seen (not that those aren't fun, just not what I have planned lol).

See you in part two, and consider dropping a review of this fic to help inspire me to write, yeah? ;D