NICKY DIDN'T LIKE TO THINK ABOUT THE OTHER BEDROOM IN THE APARTMENT. Whenever he caught sight of it, he would immediately avert his gaze, humming or talking aloud, trying to remember all the different methods he had told and heard from his patients to help fight back against intrusive thoughts and memories he couldn't acknowledge in the moment, back when he was still capable of listening and helping others.

Years ago, he was qualified to help disarm others' explosives; now, he couldn't even disarm his own.

He couldn't even use the methods properly anymore. He would wind up talking to himself for hours to fight back the exact same memories that would replay over and over, only to realize that he could mentally put the memory in a file folder with the promise to deal with it later when he was ready.

Of course, he never did, but it sated the masochistic part of his mind either way.

But as much as he could, he avoided the other bedroom like the plague, and it wasn't directly across his door like how the other bedroom was in the loft, which helped more than he would actually ever say.

He couldn't help but laugh at the irony of it all; just a few months prior, he sought out that bedroom like a moth to a flame, he and flatmate—he couldn't call him a roommate and apartment-buddy was too long—always wishing that their doors were right across from each other, his flatmate always hating the precious moments wasted as he rushed down the hallway to Nicky's room.

Now, Nicky didn't have a flatmate and the other bedroom stayed closed, and he didn't want to think about how empty the apartment was now that his flatmate's things were all put back into his room.

"What're you thinking about, baby?"

Nicky looked up from where he was staring at a point on the carpet, fingernail drawing patterns into the couch arm. Looking to the small kitchen, he found Sam making breakfast—at this point it was a late lunch, but Nicky liked the comfort of breakfast food and Sam liked to comfort—looking at him with a small smile.

Nicky gave a small smile back, more raised cheeks and squinted eyes than anything, and he fought against the grimace that his lips were straining into, knowing full well that Sam was fighting to hide the worry and tension that always came when he saw Nicky try to smile.

"I don't really know. Stuff, I guess," Nicky said, because he didn't quite know, and he didn't trust himself to find out.

Sam hummed, nodding before going back to cooking, and Nicky tried not to heave his shoulders as he sighed, trying to relax enough to fade into the couch, head tilting back on its own accord.

He didn't need to look to know that Sam was stealing glances, concern etched into his features. He had seen it when Sam first spoke; he could have fooled anyone else with his smile and casual tone, but Sam had yet to build a mask decent enough to hide his eyes, and Nicky could see the truth from a mile away.

He didn't want to complain, knew that this was because Sam cared—that concept had been hammered in over the past half decade by the people who refused to leave him be—but he wished that Sam didn't notice anything, just acted like everything was fine, so he wouldn't have to acknowledge how he was now.

But then he remembered the time when everyone had done just that, after a particularly hysterical breakdown, and he hadn't been able to last three days before he knocked on the other bedroom door, finally accepting that he would have to face things sooner or later.

Maybe he just wanted things to be better; but that would imply he knew how to get there.

"Let's eat at the table, baby, yeah?" 

Nicky looked up again, finding food on dining table and Sam pouring orange juice, and he stumbled over, sliding into his seat and waiting for Sam to start eating before he did, picking at the bacon, cheese, and potatoes for a moment before taking a bite.

They ate in companionable silence, Sam reading the news on his phone while Nicky dutifully avoided looking at it, instead tapping his fingers against his glass, already feeling the tangy sensation before his first sip. 

When they finished eating, Sam brought everything to the sink that was filled with an assortment of dirty dishes. Nicky stayed at the dining table, getting lost in the patterns of the wood as he tried to fight the urge to run away in embarrassment as he listened to Sam doing the dishes for him.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, not raising his head to meet Sam's eye. 

"I understand," Sam said, running his hand through Nicky's hair, the younger man—but only by five months now—relaxing into the touch, "You did the same for me."

"Not to the same degree," Nicky mumbled, but there wasn't much fight in his words, and he knew Sam wasn't in the mood to argue, "But thank you."

Sam hummed—half of his responses to Nicky nowadays were hums—and carded his fingers through the smaller man's hair, fingers fighting against the urge to touch the bruise on the man's cheek, knowing full well that Nicky wouldn't talk about it and would pull away immediately.

So instead he just continued to fluff his boyfriend's hair, watching his reactions closely. Nicky's lashes fluttered every so often, and while it took some time he did manage to relax, releasing the tension in his perpetually furrowed brow. He was by no means relaxed, but it was a start.

"Do you want to listen to the audiobook?" Sam asked, when Nicky started to fidget and his own legs were asking to sit down.

Nicky bit his lip, fighting back the sigh that threatened to spill over.

Ever since The Blip, Nicky hadn't been able to handle any forms of media. No movies or TV, no music, not even the news. It had taken some time for him to keep up with the latter after The Snap, spiraling into panic attacks if he so much heard the news play on a phone or TV in another room, but he had been able to handle it after a year or so.

But then The Blip happened and the idea of scrolling through news feeds or tuning in to a channel made him want to throw up.

He couldn't watch any media either, so many films and shows cancelled due to the loss of major cast and crew, bands on hiatus for the same reason, and he couldn't get himself to so much as glance at new art that did come out, nor art that he used to like; he was like a monk, but without the devotion and heart.

The only thing that he could handle were books, but physical copies were too expensive and bulky, and he could hardly stand to have his phone in the same room as him, let alone read on a tablet, so he decided on audiobooks. Audiobooks to keep him busy during the day and infomercials to help him sleep at night.

He was a mess and he knew it.

"Come on, princess, let's go," Sam said, pulling the shorter man to his feet and into his arms.

Nicky whimpered then, only to start shaking his head, eyes screwed shut. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, just ignore that, I didn't mean it."

"No, baby, I won't ignore it, what's wrong?" Sam asked, his tone more than of a parent than of a boyfriend, which neither of them liked, but knew that, sometimes, Nicky needed.

The younger man's lip quivered as he took a few deep breaths, eyes still screwed shut, and Sam hugged him, hoping that he would get a straightforward answer if he made sure Nicky knew he was there.

"You call me 'princess' the same way you call me 'baby'," Nicky explained, throat hoarse, "I know why you've started calling me 'baby' now, but I don't want you to just substitute the names anymore, I—God, this is so stupid."

"Hey," Sam snapped, though not unkindly, tilting Nicky's chin up, "Look at me. It is not stupid. Say it. It is not stupid."

Nicky shook his head furiously, eyes screwed shut, but Sam stopped him, grip firm but not painful. He waited until Nicky finally opened his eyes, and Sam hated how fearful he looked, hands fisted in the front of his shirt, holding on like Sam was about to bolt at any second.

"It's not stupid," Sam repeated, holding his gaze, "And we will work on this for as long as it takes until you realize that nothing about you or how you're feeling is stupid. You hear me? I'm not giving up on you."

Nicky nodded, blinking back tears as he moved in for a hug, and Sam sighed as he held him, trying to focus on the positives, however small they were; in this case, he was glad that Nicky was able to initiate hugs now rather than waiting for Sam to because the younger man was afraid of reaching out only to discover Sam wasn't actually there, or that he'd be pushed away.

It took three months, but Nicky finally trusted himself enough to believe that Sam was there if he could touch and see him. Little victories.

"Let's go to your room," Sam said, steering them towards the hallway, "We can just lie in today, okay?"

Neither man felt inclined to point out that Nicky did that every day.

Even though it was habit, it still felt like a sweet reward when they both collapsed on the bed. Of course, Nicky would argue that he didn't deserve it as much as Sam—and, to an extent, he would be right—but Sam would argue that, considering the circumstances, everyone needed a break.

According to Nicky's flatmate, for all the lying around Nicky did, he never did seem to get any rest; if anything, the man had been due for a break for half a decade. 

"Have you heard anything?" Nicky asked, propping himself up on one arm, drawing patterns onto Sam's chest on with the other.

Sam shook his head, lips pursed. "No. I'm pretty sure they're all physically stable, but that doesn't really mean much."

"I mean, it's better than being dead," Nicky pointed out, pretending not to notice Sam trying to hide a wince, "I just...I'm worried. I don't know where they're holding them, but I heard some whispers that they might be moving them soon."

"Unless they're moving Tony to an actual hospital, they better not even think about it," Sam grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose, only to freeze.

"Wait," he began carefully, trying and failing to keep his tone casual, "Where did you hear the whispers from. Rhett?"

Nicky cleared his throat, looking just about ready to run through his blackout curtains and out the window, and Sam bit his tongue to keep from asking more questions, wanting to give Nicky the space to actually feel like he could answer.

It didn't take long for him to respond, and if Sam's heart wasn't racing, he would have celebrated.

"I, um..." Nicky stood up and walked to the sliding closet, rummaging around before he pulled out an older tablet model. "So Rhett doesn't know where Steve or the others are, yeah? He just gets his weekly visit where he has to wear a blindfold and is only allowed to be with Steve for two minutes, enough to just let him know that we're alive so that he and Natasha will stop trying to insist on leaving."

Sam snorted, shaking his head. "Stupid to think Steve would actually retire. He'll be on his deathbed still making his speeches and trying to help people."

Beside him, Nicky grew tense, small smile instantly strained, but whatever was on his mind, he didn't dare mention, and he hid all discomfort and unsaid thoughts before Sam even looked at him; Nicky wore his heart on his sleeve, but some things weren't his to share, and if there was one thing he still retained from his years of employment, it was his ability to maintain confidentiality.

So instead he laughed. 

"Whenever he'd have to force me to eat or shower or anything he'd always tell me that I wasn't allowed to die because then I'd lose our bet, and he refused to win by forfeit. I'd always say that there was no way he would ever die because he's made of pure spite. He said that was the idea, and if he won early just because I gave up, he'd find a way to haunt my ghost."

Sam watched as Nicky moved to draw patterns into his pillow, chin propped up onto his other hand, and he wasn't fully smiling, but he had been for a moment, muscles tight from lack of use, and the older man didn't dare interrupt; it had been some time since Nicky had spoken this much when he wasn't crying.

"He would make everything a bet," Nicky continued, "I'm not even that competitive, but he'd force me to be. Taunt me like a kid until I gave in. He'd bet that I couldn't finish a glass of water in one day. Bet that I couldn't shower at least once a week. Small stuff. Just to keep me going.

"He told me I wasn't allowed to die until every hair on my head was naturally grey. He emphasized the natural part 'cause he knew I'd just go out and get some hair dye to speed things up. Would tell me that I wasn't allowed to die until I got as tall as him. I told him I'd just wait until he got old and started shrinking. I didn't even realize that was his point."

Sam felt a lump form in his throat and struggled to swallow, unable to tear his gaze away from the tired man next to him, vision starting to blur as tears pricked the corners of his eyes.

"But he was never about the big things. He was at first, that's just how Steve is. Big dreams, big goals. But he caught on quick. He would bet me that I couldn't take three steps every day. That I couldn't open my eyes at least once a day. Even when it came to the big things, he would always start small. I couldn't check-in to the rehab facility. I couldn't attend just one session. Every day he would bet me the little things that would get me to the next morning."

Nicky wasn't even aware he was still talking, vision unfocused and mind elsewhere, back to lying flat on his stomach, oblivious to the tears running down Sam's face, too shocked to move; he had heard the broad strokes from Steve, but not any of this.

"Every day I let him goad me," Nicky continued, and he breathed another laugh, "But he never let me give in. When I'd tell him he was right, that I couldn't do it, he'd tell me that if I was gonna lose, I'd have to lose fair. I had to try. I didn't always win, but I tried. Even if that just meant thinking about it. He never held it against me if I lost, but he'd always manage to get me to keep trying for later bets. I don't know how he did it."

Sam didn't either, but he wished he did; he could use more than a few pointers.

"It just sucks, you know?" Nicky said, raising his head to look at Sam, vision blurred by his own tears, his lip quivering, "Like, I wasn't perfect or anything, but I'd been doing so well for so long. You know, I could function, I hardly had any bad days, and then—"

He shuddered and curled in on himself as Sam moved to hold him. "Then I can't eat or shower or even talk half the time, and I can't get up for days and I hate it."

"I know," Sam whispered, rubbing his back, because there was nothing else he could really say, "I know. But you've made it so long, you've been doing so good."

Nicky snorted, but it was halfhearted. "I know, I know, you don't need to explain it to me, I was a psychologist, I know. And I have been proud of myself because I know I've been doing well, but then I realize I'm knocking on Steve's door to tell him that I managed to take a shower instead of putting it off to the morning even though I was tired."

Nicky rubbed at his eyes, groaning. "Having Captain America congratulate you on showering when he's literally saved the world doesn't feel as great as it sounds."

Sam laughed at that, though it sounded strained with a lump in his throat the size of the shield that he hated to touch.

"And you're so proud of yourself," Nicky continued, "But hurt so much that you never remember to ask him if he's doing alright, because you both know you're not in any position to actually support him, but you don't remember to try and find him someone who will. And after five years you start to wonder just how hard it was for him..." 

He grew quiet then, but he didn't start to cry, at least not yet. In fact, he seemed almost pensive, with a calm curiousness that relaxed all his features save for a minuscule furrow of his brow, and he almost looked five years younger, like a man long since dead, though never forgotten.

Sam wanted to ask him to explain. To explain what he meant just then, about the bets he placed, about the rehab, and the changes, and if the scrap paper that detailed his idea to have a headstone made for the person who never came back after The Blip was actually serious or just a sick joke he made to try and pretend he didn't still have hope that he could go back to how he was before.

Instead, all he managed to ask was, "So, wait, how did you hear the rumor?"

For some reason Sam couldn't explain, Nicky seemed relieved at the question. "I just, ah, had Rhett bug one of the people who came to get him, just slipped it into their pocket. Of course all transmission died as soon as they passed through the security stuff they have installed, but they went in some time after Rhett so I was able to hear a bit."

Sam didn't know how he felt, so he had no idea what face he was making, but it was enough to have Nicky shoving a finger against Sam's lips, shaking his head so hard it was a wonder it didn't just unscrew and fly off his neck.

"I didn't program it and I'm not about to do it again, I just did it the one time because he found them and he asked me to just listen, I'm not touching this again, but I just wanted to explain, so don't even think about mentioning me to the Air Force or anyone else, I know I have to find a job, but it won't be like this," he ranted, words blending together with how fast he was speaking.

Sam pulled Nicky's hand away, moving to press a kiss into his palm before bringing it up to his cheek, Nicky's eyes darting from Sam's own to where their hands were locked against Sam's cheek, and if he wasn't trying to make a point Sam would have laughed at Nicky's pink cheeks and bewildered expression.

Instead, he gave him a soft smile. "I know, baby, and I respect that, you know I do. But don't write it off completely, okay? I won't force you, but you can't pretend like you don't still have the skill."

Nicky fidgeted under the weight of Sam's gaze and words but didn't budge, his lips pursed and brow furrowed, and Sam had to admire the amount of fortitude and resolve the younger man had developed over the years.

One of the first things he had done was look Sam in the eye and tell him 'no,' and it was all it took to convince Sam that he really had been gone for as long as they all said; of course, it was bittersweet, his heart swelling with pride that Nicky could tell him no, but heart shattering when he realized the man was saying no to greeting his friends, teetering on the edge of a breakdown.

Nicky was still saying no, but Sam wouldn't always accept that answer, forcing himself to pushback if it meant Nicky could get better, and while it oftentimes felt he was dealing with a petulant teenager than a grown man, he was often more concerned than frustrated.

"I'm sorry," Nicky sighed, glancing up at him from beneath his lashes before averting his gaze, "I'm not trying to be difficult. I don't want to be."

"I know, baby," Sam repeated, pulling Nicky forward so he could lean against his chest, "I understand, and you're not being difficult. Thank you for standing up for yourself, it's important to me that you do that."

Nicky made a noncommittal sound and shrugged, as if he didn't believe Sam, and while that could very well be the truth, the older man wasn't too worried about getting Nicky to believe him; the younger man always told him the truth sooner or later, and he was much more comfortable saying no to prevent difficulties than after when he couldn't handle it anymore.

It was the little things.

Nicky shifted, moving so he was settled in Sam's lap, his back flush against Sam's chest with his head leaned back to rest against the other man's shoulder. Sam nuzzled against Nicky's neck and they sat there in relative silence, the only sounds coming from their breathing and the dull roar of the constant infomercials.

"That looks cool," Nicky commented, pointing towards the TV.

His movement jostled Sam awake, the man lifting his head from where it had come to rest on Nicky's shoulder, eyes bleary. He breathed a laugh when he saw the contraption that seemed to be a sleek amalgamation of various kitchen appliances linked to a semi-comfortable looking lounge chair that simulated core exercises when the user sat down and cooked with the kitchen contraption, everything adjustable so the user would seldom need to leave the seat to complete the meal prep.

Sam's gut instinct was to snort and mock the laziness of the people who would use it, but then thought about how this was probably tailored towards people who would benefit greatly from the accommodation for whatever reason that wasn't necessarily laziness.

Nicky could hardly stay upright for more than a few hours at a time, and there were others with more severe conditions than his own; the product suddenly made perfect sense.

"God, these salespeople are too good at their job," Sam grumbled, shocked that he was genuinely considering buying the gimmick for Nicky.

Nicky snorted with an appreciative tilt of his head. "You gotta love their hustle, though, and it's a lot funnier when they talk about food. They make you think a baker's dozen of factory-made candied apples will save your marriage, impress your in-laws, and move you into a rent-free penthouse apartment with a six-figure salary working twenty hours a week."

Sam grinned at Nicky's casual tone, the smaller man loose and pliant in his arms, unfazed as Sam adjusted their position, letting out a pleased hum as he tilted his head back against Sam's shoulder, eyes closed, which was fortunate for Sam who was unsure how Nicky would react if he saw his face.

"Can we listen to the audiobook?" Nicky asked, having waited for one of the short breaks to ask, twisting his neck to look up at him.

Sam was thrilled at the request, more than happy to grab his phone and remote, waiting to turn off the TV until he had the audiobook queued up; while he didn't think Nicky would have issue with a few moments of silence, especially since Sam was there to talk to, he didn't want to jeopardize the newfound ease that surrounded them by risking even a few moments of silence.

"Ready?" he asked, finger hovering over the play button, and Nicky shook his head, Sam trying not to freeze, heart stopping.

Oblivious to his boyfriend's panic, Nicky rearranged the pillows, propping them up against the wall with the blackout curtains, he and Sam currently leaned against the longer wall across from the TV where they would usually sleep, avoiding the top part of their bed that was pressed into the corner connecting the two walls; Nicky was short enough to sleep closer to the center, not wanting to risk seeing light peek through the blackout curtains if he angled himself a certain way, and it had no bed frame so Sam's legs didn't dangle when they stretched over the edge.

When he deemed his adjustments adequate, Nicky crawled out of Sam's arms towards the pillows, pausing to tug on his arm to get him moving. Sam, still working to register the relief his brain told him to feel at the positive turn of events, allowed himself to be pushed and pulled into position, Nicky huffing as he tried to get under Sam's limp arm.

"Cuddle," Nicky whined, making a pleased sound when Sam wrapped an arm around him, the smaller man pressing himself into his side, "Now I'm ready."

Sam rolled his eyes with a soft laugh, pressing play at the same time he pressed a kiss on the top of Nicky's head, nuzzling his hair to take in the smell of vanilla that, even after all these years, had never gone away.

They listened to the audiobook for the rest of the afternoon, Sam ordering pizza for dinner if only to coax another smile out of Nicky who had obliged without protest. Nicky didn't make as many comments as he used to, back when smiling was second nature and his movie watchlist never-ending. Sam could see when he wanted to say something, but gave up halfway through trying to open his mouth, too tired to put in the effort, and he made a point to squeeze his arm and kiss his temple; he didn't know how much it helped, but at least it was something.

By the time Sam threw in the towel and insisted they go to sleep, Nicky had been able to help put away the clean dishes and load the rest into the dishwasher, he and Sam pausing to look at the now empty sink, neither commenting on how long it must have been since Nicky had seen the bottom of it. 

He had been able to get him to take another shower, though Sam had to help him halfway through when his mind started to wander, making mindless conversation to keep the younger man grounded, drying them both off and leading them to Nicky's bedroom as fast as possible.

They paused at the foot of the bed, looking at the pillows propped up against the wall and the black screen of the TV, Sam unsure of how to broach the topic.

"You did amazing today," he said instead, because he didn't want Nicky to feel like he had to force himself to keep the momentum if he couldn't, "I'm so proud of you. How are you feeling?"

"Good," Nicky whispered, as if someone would overhear and do something to change that, "It was nice for a little bit, you know? It got harder again at the end, but it was nice. Felt a little strange, though, but I expected that."

Sam nodded; with Nicky's professional background, he didn't have to worry about how the smaller man was perceiving his experiences. "Do you want to move the pillows down or keep them up at the wall."

Nicky bit the inside of his cheek, making a face, and Sam held his breath, exhaling when Nicky said, "I think I can try by the wall."

"We can always move down later," Sam reassured, giving him an encouraging smile as they settled in.

He picked up the TV remote from where it was digging into his thigh, holding it up in silent question. He could only hope that Nicky took it as the question he intended rather than a challenge to push himself further than he was willing to go.

After a few moments of biting his cheek and licking his lips, fingers toying with one of the blankets, Nicky finally decided, his voice soft and hoarse. "Can we have it on?" 

Sam turned it on immediately, raising the volume two notches just to be safe, and handed the remote to his boyfriend who, after a brief moment, lowered the volume four notches then set it on the floor next to him before curling up in the blankets and huddling close.

Sam chose not to comment on the progress Nicky was making, instead helping him wrap himself up in the sheets he had specifically for this nightly ritual, the smaller man huffing and puffing from the effort.

"You know you don't have to keep your room this cold, right?" Sam teased, laughing when Nicky, too bundled up to move his arms or legs, tried to bite his arm in retaliation.

"Don't knock my system, Sam," Nicky sniffed, pointedly ignoring Sam's amused hum.

The smaller man turned up his nose and shifted so they were spooning, glancing back for just a moment to steal a kiss before pressing his back flush against Sam's chest, separated only by their clothes and the blanket cocoon Nicky always wrapped himself up in.

"Nighty night," Nicky yawned, nuzzling into his pillow, eyelids already drooping.

He didn't see Sam's fond smile, but he could hear it in his response, exasperation eclipsed by the endless layers of adoration that professed the unconcealed truth of just how smitten Sam Wilson was with Nicky Green. 

"Goodnight, princess," he said, and it was the way he always did; the way he used to.

In the morning, Sam would wake to find Nicky back in the center of the bed, curled in a ball with his face buried in Sam's stomach, the TV volume raised back up the four notches that Nicky had lowered, and Sam wouldn't even fathom the idea of being disappointed, because even though Nicky had woken up and raised the volume of the TV to drown out his thoughts and shied away from the window for fear of how he would react in the morning, he had still made the effort to try, and that was what mattered.

It was the little victories that would win the war, and they would need as many as they could get.

But for now Sam just held Nicky, the TV a soft whisper and the blackout curtains right by their heads, and they reveled in the little victory of another night spent together which, in the grand scheme of things, was inconsequential, but, to the two men, meant the whole world.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

( 04.06.21 )

Okay, so I had planned on having other characters show up, but the boys seemed to need another chapter just to themselves, so sorry about that, but I promise that next chapter we'll see more of everyone else (Rhett will make an appearance is basically what I'm saying.)

Also, important announcement!

[ At the time of posting this, the third episode of SamBucky just dropped and it is the week leading up to the fourth. This is still an AU segment and I have lots of ideas, but to make it easier on myself I will not be updating until after the show is finished so I can foreshadow and reference accordingly. I will still pre-write and plan, but this will make it cleaner for me. ]

I also did some math and decided to retcon some things regarding ages, so here's a simplified version (I'm posting a more in-depth version in an Instagram post along with the prior announcement):

[ I initially had Sam be three years older than Nicky, but now I'm having him be five years older. That means when they graduated high school Nicky was 13 and Sam was 18 (give or take a few months), and I'm also having Rhett be older (which is easy since I never fully listed his age.) So in Almost Happy, Nicky and Steve were 27, Rhett was 30, and Sam was 32.

The Blip was 5 years after 2018 so in 2023 (or 2024 as I saw listed in the MCU wiki (that I don't trust), possibly because six months after The Blip was the new year, but I digress) Sam, Steve, and Nicky are all 33 while Rhett is still 31. ]

I think that's all I have to say, though I also want to thank all of you for reading the last chapter and commenting and just showing support, it means a lot, especially after being gone for so long.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!