Steve had imagined this reunion a thousand times since Bucky had first been reaped; at first, it had been an empty, despairing hope, a last-ditch grasping at the belief that maybe, just maybe, Bucky could beat the odds and make it out of the arena alive. Then, once Bucky had been declared Victor, it had changed into a surety, a guilty, giddy knowledge that Steve was going to get his best friend back. That it had come at the expense of 23 other tributes was the reason for the guilt, but Steve couldn't help but allow himself this one measure of selfishness. Bucky was all he had, now that his Ma was gone, and he even when he'd dared to tempt fate by hoping for his return, Steve had never really let himself believe it.
It was easy to believe it now, with Bucky sitting just a few feet away, except that this reunion wasn't going anything like Steve had pictured it. Bucky was distant and blank in a way that made the back of Steve's neck prickle. It was so unlike the Bucky that Steve had grown up with. It felt wrong in a way that reached to his very core, and it made him wonder if the many times Steve had been turned away these past couple weeks had maybe been at Bucky's request after all.
Steve swallowed, trying to ignore the sense of unease that was creeping through him. Of course some things were going to be different - no one could go through that sort of horrific experience and emerge from the other side unchanged, unscathed. It didn't mean that they wouldn't still be friends.
"What kind of a dumb question is that?" Steve asked, gentling the teasing remark with a smile. It was the sort of casual ribbing he and Bucky had always engaged in, though it felt riskier now, like Steve might inadvertently stumble across a landmine he didn't know was buried right in front of him. "You're my best pal, of course I wanted to see you. I missed you." His voice softened over the last few words, painfully earnest. A simple 'I miss you' didn't come close to covering the way Bucky's absence had made Steve feel, but now wasn't the time to go into that, he was sure.
Steve gingerly sat down on the bench beside Bucky, telegraphing his movements as he did so. Everything about Bucky seemed tensed and coiled, like the slightest noise or unexpected shift might spook him. And when he finally dragged a smile onto his face it looked wrong, didn't look anything like Bucky at all.
"Yeah, I guess I grew some, while - while you were gone," Steve said. "I've got that job at the factory now, too - they've got me lifting things all day, every day. Not very intellectually stimulating, but it's good exercise." That was putting a positive spin on it, but Steve wanted badly to fill the silence that stretched between them, because that felt just as wrong as Bucky's smile.
After a moment, Steve set the bag of cookies down between them, rolling the top edges of the bag down so that the spicy scent of ginger wafted enticingly up to their noses. "How're you doing?" he asked, lifting his eyes to look searchingly at Bucky, like maybe he'd find a true answer in his expression, if not his words.